


Forty Days

by buttsbeyondbutts



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Background Relationships, Dehydration, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Human Pennywise (IT), Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Richie Tozier, Mystery, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: On September 25th, 18 year old Richard Tozier vanished from Derry Maine.On November 4th, Richard Tozier turned up at the home of Edward Kaspbrak, naked, tortured, and silent.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Everyone
Comments: 117
Kudos: 451





	1. November 4th

The doorbell rang around seven, just as they were finishing dinner.

"Eddie Bear!" His mother called from the bathroom. "Tell them to go away!"

Eddie pushed the TV tray out of the way and went to obey. Who the hell would bother them this late, especially a few days after Halloween with two inches of snow on the ground?

Eddie peered through the peep hole and his heart stopped. He threw open the door and pulled the naked, shivering boy inside.

"Richie! Holy shit, Richie, what-" a million questions turned to ash in his mouth. Richie shook, tears rolling down bright red cheeks. He swayed forward. Eddie caught his shoulders. They went down together, half falling and half kneeling. "Richie, say something! You gotta stay awake, Richie, please!"

He patted Richie's cheek, belatedly noticing the bruises under his eyes and the faded scar by his lips. Richie didn't have a scar there, at least he hadn't the last time they saw each other.

That was over five weeks ago. 

Eddie's stomach lurched. Richie had disappeared four weeks ago. He stared at Eddie with vacant brown eyes. Where were his glasses? Where were his clothes? Eddie could see his bones jut out under his skin. He shook with every haggard breath. "Richie, what happened?"

Richie didn't speak, just clung to Eddie's sleeves and shook. His back- _sweet Jesus God, his back-_ was covered in scars, fresh, deliberate scars. Rage and disgust rose in Eddie's throat. "Who did this?"

Richie pushed his face into Eddie's shoulder and cried. 

"Fuck-" Eddie wrapped his arms over his shoulders. "It's okay, Richie. You're gonna be okay."

"Eddie, what-" his mother shrieked behind him. Something dropped with a crash. "What on earth?!"

"Mommy, call the police." Eddie said. Richie didn't have time for her hysterics, even though for once they were warranted. "Call an ambulance."

"Eddie, don't touch him! You'll catch something!"

"Call an ambulance now!" Eddie snapped. "Richie, can you get up? We gotta get you warm, okay?"

Richie went easily, as Eddie pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, leaning hard. "C'mon," Eddie took him into his arms like a baby, carrying him into the livingroom. His mother glared at them from the kitchen. Eddie didn't care. He lay Richie down on the couch, kneeling in front of him. He took a quilt from his mother's chair, and draped it over his shivering body. Richie just stared, still clutching his arm. 

"Jesus, your fingers-" Eddie took the frozen, bruised things in his hand and blew on them. They'd been broken for a while. _Five weeks?_

Eddie pushed the thought out of his mind. Richie needed him. He grabbed another blanket. "I'm gonna get the first aid kit, okay?"

Richie's eyes went wide, panicked. It hurt Eddie to leave him, even for a couple minutes. He darted into the kitchen, where his mother was still on the phone.

"I don't know," she glared at Richie, "maybe drugs."

"He's not high, Mom!" Eddie hissed, grabbing the white plastic box from the cupboard. 

Sonia's glare turned to him. "He just showed up, naked as a jaybird, in the middle of the night-"

Eddie snatched the phone from her hand. "His name is Richard Tozier. He's been missing since September. He needs an ambulance now!" He gave his address and hung up the phone.

"Eddie-" she stared at him. 

"Fuck's sake, Mom, he's hurt!" He filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave. "I gotta call his parents. Make sure he stays awake."

She made a face but returned to the livingroom without comment. Eddie watched through the doorway. _You can be nice. Just be nice to him for once in your life._

"Tozier residence," Richie's mother answered on the third ring. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted. Eddie's abandoned him in an instant. "Hello?"

Eddie swallowed. "Hi, Mrs. Tozier. It's Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Oh," her voice went heartbreakingly soft. "Eddie."

"Richie's at my house," Eddie said. The phone dropped with a loud thunk. "Mrs. Tozier?"

"Oh my god," she sobbed into his ear. "How did- is he-"

"He showed up a few minutes ago." Eddie said. "We called the police. He's hurt pretty bad."

"Went!" Mrs. Tozier shouted. "Went, they found Richie!" She turned back into the phone. "Let me talk to him, Eddie! Please!"

Eddie looked at Richie. He stared straight ahead, glass eyed and trembling. "I don't think he can talk, Mrs. Tozier."

"What?"

"I think you should come here right now." He gave her the address as the microwave beeped, and hung up. 

Richie looked up when he entered. "Drink this. I called your mom." 

Richie took the cup. His hands shook, spilling the water. On instinct, Eddie put his hands over Richie's. He guided the mug to his lips. "Drink."

Richie drank fast. That had to be a good sign. Eddie brushed his fingers through his filthy hair. He hadn't noticed it before but Richie was rank. His skin was covered in dirt and stains. Scraps of duct tape clung to his wrists. 

Eddie set the mug down. He open the first aid kit. "I'm gonna clean you up, okay?"

Richie didn't say anything. Eddie swallowed. "Mommy, can you bring me a wash cloth, please?" 

She made a sour face but did as he asked. "Sorry about her," Eddie said. Richie just stared. "Tell me if this hurts, okay?" He took a small wipe from its packet and traced gently over his face. The white cloth came back black. Richie winced as Eddie's heart caught in his throat. "Jesus, Richie, what happened?"

Richie just trembled. 

Mommy returned with a fresh wash cloth a bowl of hot water. "Thank you," Eddie said. The sour look increased as her son carefully rinsed the wash cloth and sponged it at the other boy's face. Eddie didn't care. He ran the warm cloth over Richie's skin and hair, chipping away at layers of dirt and mess. He took special care at his wrists, soaking the duct tape to remove the adhesive. He wanted to ask his mother to grab some clothes. Richie's mother shouldn't see him like this. 

But the moment the idea crossed his mind, she was there. They must have forgotten to close the door. Mrs. Tozier choked the moment she saw her son. "Richie!" She pulled him close, kissing his filthy cheeks as she sobbed. "Richie, thank god!"

Dr. Tozier staggered behind his wife. He stared at his family, tears forming behind thick glasses. His hands trembled, reaching for his child.

Richie didn't react at first. Then, as his father placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, Richie shuddered. Then he made a strangled noise and began to sob. His parents crowded around him. Eddie looked away, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. 

His own mother caught his eye. "My mother's quilt, Eddie? God knows where he's been."

Eddie inhaled sharply. The doorbell saved his mother from every thought in his head. He strode into the foyer without looking back.

"Derry Police." Butch Bowers stood on his front porch. "We got a call about a missing person."

"We called for an ambulance." Eddie blocked the doorway. Of course they'd send fucking Bowers. 

"They're here too," he jerked his head at the paramedics behind him. "Heard something about drugs."

Eddie was going to kill his mother. "No. I called because Richie Tozier showed up on my doorstep after nobody saw him for a month. Where's the detective in charge of his case?"

"Home." Bowers spat on his porch. "Step aside, kid, before I decide to arrest you for false reporting." 

Only two things prevented Eddie from getting arrested that night. First, his mother's hand on his shoulder. Second, Wentworth Tozier DDS pushed passed him with a frown. "Officer Bowers."

"Mr. Tozier," Bowers sucked his teeth. "That your boy in there?"

"Yes. I'd like to speak with Detective Morris please."

Bowers rolled his eyes and picked up his walkie. "Bowers to Hawkins, get Morris down to the station. We got a lead on the Tozier kid."

Eddie stepped back in to the house. Mrs. Tozier had taken over first aid duty. She held his hands, carefully dabbing at his wrists. Eddie's mother stood in the corner with her arms crossed. Eddie sat down in the armchair. Richie watched him. 

Eddie took a puff of his inhaler, out of habit. He wasn't asthmatic, despite his mother's insistence, but the act itself was a comfort. It gave him something to do rather than bombard Richie with questions.

_Who hurt you? Where have you been? We looked every day. What did they do to you while we were looking?_

Dr. Tozier reappeared, followed by the paramedics. "Mrs. Kaspbrak, could we use your restroom, please? The paramedics need to examine Richie before we can take him to the hospital."

"It's over here." Eddie did not give her a chance to refuse. He lead the Toziers and the paramedics to the bathroom. Richie went silently. He stared at Eddie until the door closed. Dr. Tozier stepped back out a moment later.

"We need to take Richie to the hospital." He said. "They need to examine him throughly to understand what happened. Do you have any clothes or shoes we can borrow?"

"Yeah, of course!" Eddie nodded rapidly. "Which hospital?"

Dr. Tozier blinked. "I'm not- Derry General, I believe."

Eddie nodded. "I can bring him some clothes from his room if you give me a key."

"That would help, yes." He said in a soft, far away voice. He took his keys out with a shacking hand. "Did he say anything to you, Eddie? Anything at all?"

Eddie shook his head. "He hasn't said anything."

* * *

They put him in Eddie's pajamas. The t-shirt and sweats, over sized on Eddie, fit Richie like a glove. He let them bundle him up in coats and socks. It would not work. Richie would be cold for the rest of his life.

They put him in a gurney, bent up like a chair. Butch Bowers watched on while Richie tried to sink into himself. Of course, Derry sent the father of all assholes to collect him. 

Eddie stood next to him, vibrating with anxious energy. Richie couldn't stop staring at him. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Eddie didn't hear him. Richie couldn't talk. 

"I'll see you soon," Eddie promised, like Richie had weeks ago. 

They wheeled him into the evening, toward a white square. Richie's vision tunneled. 

"Hey!" One of the paramedics shouted.

"Richie!" Eddie and his parents caught him before he fell. He couldn't break their grasp. They forced him back on to the gurney, lying to him.

"It's okay, baby. We'll be with you the whole time."

"Richie, you need to calm down."

Richie looked at Eddie. Eddie held his arm, preventing another escape. _Don't let them take me! Eddie, please don't put me in that thing again!_

Something sharp poked into his arm. The world blurred, and then went black.

* * *

Detective Morris gave Eddie a cup of coffee. He could hear his mother rant about stunted growth and REM sleep. She had tried to stop him from going to the hospital too. 

_What's one more conniption?_

"Mr. Kaspbrak," Morris leaned against the wall. He looked much worse than he had four weeks ago. His beard grew more salt than pepper. The bags under his eyes were heavy. "Why don't you walk me through what happened tonight?"

Eddie closed his eyes. He'd told the story three times already. "We just finished dinner, at 7 o'clock. The doorbell rang. My mother was in the bathroom, taking her medication, so I answered it. I saw Richie- like that."

"Like what?"

Eddie glared. Morris knew exactly how Richie was. He could head over to ICU and check for himself if he forgot. "Naked. Shit beat out of him. Fucking tortured."

Morris jotted something in his notebook, as if Eddie was relaying a complicated lunch order. "Did you see anything else?"

"I saw Richie."

Morris closed his eyes. "Mr. Kaspbrak, I want to find out what happened to Richie Tozier. If you saw anything- a car or a person or anything out of the ordinary- it may help us discover the truth. What did you see?"

"I don't know," Eddie swallowed. "It was dark. Richie was- I didn't see any cars or anything."

"You were the last person to see him before he disappeared."

"Besides the person who took him." Eddie said. 

"And the first person to find him."

"I didn't find him," Eddie said. He ignored the sting of guilt. Richie found him. He spent weeks, scared and suffering, while Eddie went to school and ate dinner.

"The first person to see him then. It's an interesting coincidence."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Am I a suspect?"

Morris sipped his coffee. "Tell me what happened on September Twenty Fifth."

Eddie inhaled. He'd told this story a dozen times over. "Richie came over around 8:30. He snuck in the back window."

"You're sure it was 8:30?"

"Richie doesn't come over when my mother's awake." Eddie said. "She goes to sleep at 8:15, every night."

"Your mother doesn't like Richie?"

"Is she a suspect?"

"Why did Richie come over?"

"He was upset. His parents were gonna move." Eddie remembered the night in perfect clarity. Richie scrambled up the trellis and rapped on the window. He tumbled inside and pulled Eddie into a tight hug.

"Did he mention any plans?"

Eddie swallowed. "No. No plans."

"Nothing out of the ordinary?"

He blinked, trying to shut out the memory of chapped lips pressed to his, dark curls between his fingers. _Not relevant._ Eddie told himself. _Richie wasn't tortured because I kissed him._

"Nothing. We talked and he left, a couple hours later."

He left the taste of cigarettes on Eddie's lips.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No. He said he'd see me at school the next day."

Morris sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Kaspbrak. I'll be in touch."

Eddie nodded. He wiped the coffee off his mouth with the back of his wrist. He looked down at the empty cup and tossed it into the trash can.

He didn't see Richie for another five weeks after they kissed. At first, he'd been pissed, thinking Richie chickened out. As the school day wound down, he started to get nervous. What if it was all just a practical joke? What if he got freaked out?

After three days, he got scared. Richie's parents hadn't seen him. No one had seen him. They called the police. The Losers tore the town apart looking for him.

Nothing.

Nothing until Richie showed up on his porch. 

"Eddie?" Dr. Tozier appeared from the ICU. He'd aged a dozen years. 

Eddie stood up straight, holding the clothes he'd brought. "How's Richie?"

"Sleeping," he swallowed. "They found... he's in a bad way but..."

"He'll be okay?" _He has to be okay._

"He'll live." Dr. Tozier said. "Thank you for the clothes."

"Of course." _Let me see him._ "If there's anything I can do, please-"

_Let me see him let me see him let me see him._

Dr. Tozier shook his head. "I think all we can do now is wait."

"Okay." Eddie sighed. 

Dr. Tozier sat down hard and put his head in his hands. Eddie swallowed. He should say something but what could he possibly say?

_Please let me see him. Please, I have to see him!_

That was irrelevant though. The last thing the Toziers needed was some yearning teenager underfoot. Would Richie even want to-

"I should get back." Richie's father said.

Eddie nodded. They stayed seated.

Eddie swallowed. "Dr. Tozier?"

"Yes, Eddie?"

"I-" _Not. Relevant. Keep your shit together, Kaspbrak._ "Can I tell people? The lo- Richie's friends were really worried. Can I tell them he's back?"

"I don't think so." He shook his head. "Not yet."

_They're still looking for him._ Eddie's stomach dropped. Richie's disappearance gutted the group. Lunch became almost silent, because Richie wasn't there to fill the gaps. No one mocked Eddie's triple sealed organic sack lunch or bitched about gym. Bev smoked more, now alone behind the metal shop. Stan disappeared into his birds and books with no Trashmouth to annoy him into interaction. Bill, having nearly shed his stutter in ninth grade, could barely get through a sentence. Mike picked them up after school, loaded into his grandfather's pick up to continue the search. Ben scoured the internet for any help it could give (not much) and dutifully printed new missing posters to replace the lost or vandalized.

Was he just supposed to let them continue?

Dr. Tozier seemed to sense his angst. "For a few days, at least. I want to keep his name out of the media. He needs privacy."

"Okay." Eddie swallowed. He'd keep his mouth shut for Richie's sake. Hopefully the others would forgive him. "I won't say anything."

Dr. Tozier nodded. He stood with a sigh. "I'll- you should get home, Eddie. Thank you for everything."

Eddie stood up too fast, making his head spin. "Dr. Tozier!"

He turned, blinking. "Yes?"

"Richie-" the words got stuck in his mouth but he pushed them through. "Can I see him?"

His voice drowned in desperation. Dr. Tozier sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Eddie."

He disappeared behind the ICU doors. Eddie sat down hard. He wanted to scream. The minute they'd closed the doors on the abulance, every ache of anxiety surpressed over the last month swelled inside him. He supressed them through the drive to the Tozier house, only to scream the moment he entered Richie's room. He pressed his face to the pillow and screamed. It smelled like Richie. Four weeks faded the cigarette scent, the deoderant and sweat, but Richie was ingrained in that fabric, in that room. 

Now he was in a hospital bed, beaten, with doctors and police picking at every horrible wound. He wasn't even speaking. 

Now Doctor Tozier thought he should go home. _Fuck that._ Eddie thought viciously. _They can kick me out if they want to. Mom can come and drag me. I'm not leaving without Richie._

* * *

His mother dressed him. She cried silently, as she had through the examinations. She cried while Richie stood still, allowing the nurses to manipulate his limbs and catalog his injuries. She cried while she washed his body, like he was a little kid. Because Richie had just stood under the stream, letting the heat soak through his skin. He wanted to comfort her but that would have meant talking and talking meant-

_"Say one fucking word and I'll cut your fucking tongue off."_

Talking was out. 

A detective with a beard asked a thousand questions. Richie heard half of them but the answers all required talking. He stared ahead, still and silent.

_"Good bitch."_

The detective promised to return the next day. The nurse gave him an apologetic look and an injection of something that would "help you get some rest."

All he wanted was rest. The poke barely registered. Mom sat beside him, cradling his bandaged hand, still crying. Dad took his other side, a hand on Richie's hair. He drifted to sleep like a child, listening to them talk.


	2. November 5th

Alexandra Morris wanted her son to hunt monsters. She had come of age in a world when monsters were meant to be destroyed, not lusted for, and she had instilled these values in her son. 

Detective Quincey Morris could have spat on her grave for that. 

The problem with constantly fighting monsters is that you have to keep seeking out monsters. A monster brought him to Derry six years ago and another had already sprung up in his place. They really ought to check the water supply.

After a healthy two hours of sleep, Morris called his wife. 

"Quince?" Her voice was thick and heavy with fatigue. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty. Sorry, Em."

"It's fine." He could hear her fumble for the light, for her glasses. "What's up?"

"I'm stuck in Derry for a week at least." He said, ripping off the bandaid. "Richie Tozier was found alive."

Emily let out a long breath. "Thank goodness. Do you know who-"

"No." Morris doubted that goodness had anything to do with Tozier's abduction or his reappearance. "Kid's in pretty rough shape. He won't be giving a statement any time soon."

"Is it-" she hestitated, "is it worse than Gray?"

"What are you, a reporter?" Morris joked, in an effort to avoid saying yes. Yes, in his expert, monster fighting opinion, whoever tortured and raped Richie Tozier was worse than Bob Gray. It was a close contest, sure, but Bob Gray's victims died quickly. He didn't hold them for forty days 

"I love you." Emily said. "Be careful."

"I love you too." Morris told his reason to keep fighting. "I'll call tonight."

They hung up without another word. Quincey Morris pulled on his suit and ran a comb through his thinning hair before he left to find a monster.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak slept sprawled out a plastic chair, drooling on his winter coat. It was ten o'clock in the morning. The hospital ought to have kicked him out hours ago.

Stan flicked him in the forehead. Eddie flinched, swatting at nothing. Stan flicked him again. "You found Richie?"

"Jeez!" Eddie opened his eyes with a groan.

"Is Richie back?!" The words shook on their way out. Stan went to flick him again.

"Yes!" Eddie shielded his face behind his arm. "He's back!"

The anger drained instantly, leaving Stan empty. He sat down next to Eddie. He pressed his face into his hands and shuddered. _Richie's back._

"When?"

"Last night," Eddie's voice was hollow. "He just showed up on my porch, fuckin' dead on his feet-"

"And you didn't tell us?" He was trying to be angry but only hurt escaped.

Eddie shook his head. "Dr. Tozier asked me not to. He wants to keep the media away as long as possible."

Stan scoffed, energizing anger returning. "Fat chance. Henry Bowers is running his mouth all over town. Says they found Richie in a crack house."

Eddie gave an inhuman snarl. "That fucking asshole! His dad came to my house when we called for an ambulance!"

"Seriously?"

Eddie nodded. Rage drove him to his feet, pacing around the waiting room. "Son of a bitch threatened to arrest me."

"For what?"

"Shits and giggles." Eddie pushed his fingers through his hair. "I'll have his fucking badge for this. He's not allowed to gossip about open fucking cases!"

Stan couldn't quite hate Butch in this instance. If he'd been slightly professional, Stan would still be sitting in Algebra II, trying not to look at Richie's empty seat next to him. The others had dismissed Henry as a liar and gone to class. To be fair, Henry was a liar but he'd planted the seed in Stan's brain. That seed sprouted when Eddie didn't show up. 

_Richie's back... how?_

"Eddie." Stan tried to keep calm. Eddie turned to face him, shaking with barely contained rage. "What happened to Richie?"

Eddie swallowed. He sat down and covered his face in his hands. "I don't know. He showed up at my house last night. He was- fuck, Stan, they tortured him."

"What do you mean?"

"His back was covered in scars. His fingers were all smashed. He-" Eddie shuddered. "I could see his ribs."

The implications turned Stan's stomach. He gripped Eddie's shoulder, not sure if he wanted to comfort his friend or cling to the lifeline. Eddie leaned into him. His eyes squeezed shut. "It's okay," Stan said. "He's back now. He'll be okay."

"He didn't talk, Stan." Eddie croaked. "Not one word. He just... stared at me."

Everything felt suddenly cold. He couldn't imagine a silent Richie. Richie talked in his sleep, in the library, specifically when anyone told him to shut up. Silence and Richie didn't belong in the same sentence.

Eddie leaned against him. Stan wondered if he'd slept at all that night. Had Richie?

Careful not to disturb Eddie, Stan texted the Losers.

_[Richie's alive. Derry General. Here with Eddie.]_

Replies flooded the screen.

**Bill Denbrough:** _[Holy shit! When? Did you see him?]_

**Mike Hanlon:** _[There in 20.]_

**Ben Hanscom:** _[did they catch the guy? What happened??]_

**Bev Marsh:** _[Leaving now]_

**Mike Hanlon:** _[I'll pick you up.]_

**Bev Marsh:** _[Not waiting.]_

"What are you-" Eddie blinked at his phone.

"They already found out from Bowers." Stan said, refusing to feel guilt. "I'm just confirming. You didn't break your promise."

"Sorry."

"This isn't about us." Stan said.

Eddie swallowed and pulled out his own phone.

**Eddie Kaspbrak:** _[He showed up at my house last night. He's really hurt. They sent Bowers when I called the cops. Dr. Tozier asked me not to tell anyone.]_

**Bill Denbrough:** _[Fuckers. On my way.]_

**Eddie Kaspbrak:** _[sorry.]_

Stan glared at him and typed _[Don't apologize.]_ into the group chat.

Eddie breathed in deep. 

**Ben Hanscom:** _[eddie were you there all night?]_

**Eddie Kaspbrak:** _[yes.]_

**Mike Hanlon:** _[bringing food.]_

Stan smiled. Mike brought food for every minor crisis. _And whatever hell this turns out to be._

Bev and Bill arrived first, looking gorgeous and windswept, and talking over each other.

"Wh-what happened, Eh-eh-ed-ed-?"

"Where's Richie?"

Eddie winced. He told the story again. Richie showed up on his doorstep, naked, tortured, and silent. Ben appeared and he started over. The story grew in repetition. Stan learned that Mrs. Kaspbrak was to blame for starting the drug rumors. He could only imagine the fit she'd throw when she learned Eddie ditched school to hang out in a hospital. 

Mike arrived with a thermal bag full of breakfast burritos. Eddie launched into the story again, barely touching his breakfast. Mike listened without questions, worried frown deepening as the tale finished up. When he finished, Eddie collapsed back onto his chair and stuffed the burrito into his mouth.

"Jesus," Bev muttered. Ben put his arm around her shoulder. Bill just stared into the middle distance. Mike's brown eyes met Stan's, communicating the same thought.

_At least Richie's alive._

Their silence was interrupted by the swinging hospital doors. Dr. Tozier looked like he'd just run a marathon on six minutes of sleep. He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed deeply. Then he saw them. 

Beside Stan, Eddie tensed in anticipation of adult disapproval. Dr. Tozier pulled his glasses back into place and regarded them. "You kids should be in school."

Everyone spoke at once.

"Is Richie okay?!"

"Eddie didn't tell us!"

"Wh-wh-where's- Where's R-rrri-ch-"

"Henry Bowers said-"

"Enough." Dr. Tozier raised his hands for silence. "Richie is asleep. I'm sure Eddie told you how badly he was hurt, but he should be alright."

_That doesn't mean anything._ Stan recognized the classic adult misdirection. _Should be isn't the same as will be. Richie should be in Algebra II but he is in a hospital._

He bit down his frustration as Eddie spoke in wavering plea. "Can we see him?"

Everyone had stood the moment Richie's father appeared, but Eddie had faltered forward the moment he spoke. Even now, he looked ready to bumrush the door. When Dr. Tozier spoke, he looked at Eddie. " He can't see anyone yet. I'm sorry."

His shoulders dropped. His hand shook in front of him. Stan gripped his shoulder, trying to steady him. 

Dr. Tozier didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he didn't have the energy. "Okay." He huffed. "You said something about Henry Bowers-"

"He's telling everyone that Richie's back." Ben said. "That he's on drugs."

_Worse than that._ According to Bowers, Richie spent the last forty days whoring around Portland, hopped up on every drug from crystal to Special K. Stan hated to imagine how awful the tale would grow after a few rounds in the rumor mill. Dr. Tozier would hear the gory details soon enough. Better that he not hear it from a loser.

_Not if we want to see Richie._ Stan could feel Eddie's worry course through his little body.

Dr. Tozier winced. "Henry Bowers? As in Officer Bowers' kid?"

They nodded. Dr. Tozier grimaced, pushed up his glasses and muttered "Fuck me running," at the ceiling. 

_That's what Richie will look like in thirty years._

"Okay." He said. "Okay. You kids need to go back to school before the media gets wind of this."

No one moved. Dr. Tozier swore again. 

"Look, I know you've been worried, but Richie is safe now. The doctors are taking care of him."

"Can we see him?" Eddie asked again, as if anything had changed in thirty seconds.

"No." He said. "He's recovering from hypothermia, broken bones... he needs to rest. The police-" another grimace. Then Dr. Tozier blinked. "I will call you when Richie's ready to see people. I promise. Right now, you kids need to get back to class. Understood?"

Eddie pushed his hand through his hair. "Please, Dr. Tozier-"

Stan put his arm over Eddie's shoulders. "Understood, sir. Come on, Eddie."

Mike stepped forward, holding the cooler he'd brought. "My grandmother sent these, Dr. Tozier. She said to let us know if you need anything."

Dr. Tozier nodded. "Thank you, Mike."

Mike nodded. He turned without another word and put his arm around Eddie's shoulder, helping Stan turn him around. 

Together they guided Eddie out of the hospital. The moment sunlight hit Eddie, he shattered. He buried his face into Mike's chest and sobbed. The others gathered around him, murmuring quiet reassurances. Stan peered over their shoulders, watching for the inevitble media onslaught.

"Fuck!" Eddie whispered. He shook violently. All the arms in the world couldn't still that grief. "Fuck!"

"Wh-what do we do?" Bill's voice was hollow. "What the fuck do we do?"

"Go back to class?" Ben suggested in a doubtful voice.

Bev huffed, breaking from the hug. "Fuck that." Her pretty face was red with tears and anger. She pulled a cigarette from her bag and tried to light it. 

"You can't smoke in front of a hospital." Eddie said, finally emerging from Mike's arms. 

"And yet, here I am." She got her lighter working and took a long drag. "Goddamn miracle of our modern age."

_Richie would've laughed at that._

"At least we know Richie's okay." Ben said, wiping his own tears.

"Did that sound okay to you?!" Eddie snapped. "Hypothermia! Broken bones! Probably-"

"Eddie!" Stan cut him off as the bright blue news van pulled up to the curb. Local Action News rushed out and into the hospital, pointedly ignoring The Losers.

_Fucking vultures._ Stan sucked in a long, cold breath. "We should go."

The others nodded.

"You wanna come to the farm?" Mike offered. "Or I can drop you back at school."

"Fuck no." Bev said. She dropped her cigarette to the pavement and crushed it under her boot. Truer words were never spoken.

They piled into Mike's pick up. Ben, Bill and Beverly, Triple B as Richie called them, took the back seat, while Eddie sat in front between Stan and Mike. The squeeze should have been tighter. Richie always complained, tried to get Mike to let them ride in the truck bed. Mike always said he didn't need another reason to get pulled over, and Richie always ended up smushed between Eddie and the window. With Richie gone, the truck felt like a canyon. 

_He's not gone._ Stan reminded himself, watching the hospital shrink in the rearview. _He was never gone._

* * *

Richie had dreamed of the clown. 

Or he had dreamed about finding Eddie and his parents, about being dry and safe again. One had to be real. Richie just didn't know which. 

Or they were both dreams, the last hallucination of his dying brain.

The clown was big, about the size of a mail truck. The face was greasepaint white with a blood red smile. That smile opened inhumanly wide in to a black tunnel of a mouth filled with row after row of thin silver teeth. Each tooth looked like a pocket knife. 

A cold familar hand closed around his neck. The grip was tight but enough to cut off his breathing, not yet. Richie didn't need to look. He knew who it was. He knew enough to move where it pushed him.

Richie wanted the other dream to be real. The dream where Eddie washed his face and told him he would be okay, where his mother brushed his hair, and his father sat by his bedside. The dream where he had a bedside, Richie wanted that to be real. 

The Eddie dream lasted longer and had better characters. The detective returned in the morning, carrying a manilla envelope, and swearing at reporters. He talked to Richie's parents in an unintelligable whisper. Mom shook her head. Dad put his hand on her shoulder and said something. She looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. Then she looked at Richie. Richie blinked at her. Maggie Tozier closed her eyes and said. "Fine. Five minutes." 

She returned to Richie's side and put her hand on his shoulder. "Richie, honey, Detective Morris needs to ask you a few questions, okay? Your Dad and I will be just outside, okay?"

Richie nodded. He hadn't tried to speak for days but he'd heard a nurse explain that his larynx had been severly damaged sometime during his capitivity. It was a relief, actually, to know he'd been physically silenced, that he wasn't just following instructions.

He wondered when the trauma happened.

His mother kissed his forehead and joined her husband in the hallway. The detective took her seat. "Hello, Richie." He said in a hoarse voice. "My name is Detective Morris. I know you've been through a lot, but I need to ask you a few questions. Do you understand?"

Richie nodded slowly. He looked familiar somehow. Richie knew his face.

Detective Morris pulled the small tray table over and set his envelope on top of it. "I know you're voice is pretty rough, so I'll just ask yes or no questions. Just nod for yes and shake your head for no."

Richie nodded, still staring. Morris had questioned him last night but Richie knew him from before that. His face had been younger, without the beard.

"Do you remember September 25th?"

Richie shrugged. He wasn't great with dates at the best of times.

Morris took a breath. "Do you remember visiting Eddie Kaspbrak?"

_Eddie._ Richie nodded. Eddie had kissed him. Eddie had washed his face and gave him hot water.

"What-" Morris stopped himself. "After you saw Eddie on September 25th, did you run away?"

Richie shook his head. _Why would I ever leave after that?_

"Did someone take you somewhere? Somewhere you didn't want to go?"

_He took me to hell._ Richie nodded.

"Who- do you remember the person who took you?"

Richie nodded. He remembered everything.

Morris's grey eyes went bright. "If you saw that person again, would you recognize him?"

Richie nodded. _Where do I know you from?"_

Morris opened the manilla envelope and took out five photos. "I want you to look at these very carefully," he said. "I want to know if you recognize them."

He lay the pictures carefully on the tray table: a heavy set black man, a squirrely white guy with a neck tattoo, a fat white man, a fat white man with bifocals, and a thin white man with a wide smile.

"Do any of these people look familar?"

Richie shook his head as his eyes rested on the smiling man. _He looks like that guy who-_

Richie looked back at the detective. Everything clicked into place. _I know you. You found Georgie Denbrough._

The detective told him to look at the pictures again. "Look close. Do you see the person who hurt you?"

Richie shook his head. _He's not Pennywise._ _You won't find him unless he lets you._

Detective Morris sat back in the chair. "That's alright. I want you to know you're doing very well, Richie. We're gonna find the people who hurt you."

Richie shook his head. 

Morris blinked at him. He leaned forward, furrowing that familiar brow. "Why not? What happened?"

Richie just stared.

Morris leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Richie, am I looking for a body?"

Richie shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Please leave a review. They mean a lot.


	3. November 7th

11/6/2020

MISSING BOY FOUND 

Richard Matthew Tozier, 18, returned to his family on November 4th, forty days after his disappearance on September 25th.

Anonymous sources report that Tozier resurfaced at friend's house who called the police. Tozier is recovering from trauma sustained during his disappearance.

Detective Quincey Morris, Maine State Police, was called in to investigate after Tozier's clothes weres found burned on September 27th. No stranger to Derry, Detective Morris arrested notorious serial killer, Bob "Pennywise" Gray, after the dramatic recovery of a local child. After weeks of investigation and no results, the Tozier case was believed unsolvable until the teen's dramatic reappearance. 

"We are still treating this as an abduction, working closely with the DPD," Morris said.

"The perpetrator is still at large. Any information should be reported to the police."  
The Tozier family declined to comment.

  
Melanie Baxter   
Derry Daily News

* * *

The world, unaccountably and unforgivably, continued. It hadn't stopped when Richie disappeared, why should it stop when he came back?

_Why in fuck am I here?_ Eddie thought as Mrs. Barley droned on about Algebra II. _I don't care about this shit when Richie's here, let alone now._

But where else would he go? The hospital was overrun with reporters and he couldn't actually see Richie. Home held his Mommy's suffocating embrace, and she'd be worse if he tried to fake sick. He considered going back to the Hanlon farm, where he'd actually gotten decent rest yesterday, passed out on Stan's shoulder. There were too many variables. Reception was spotty out there. He could only miss so many days of school and they were all reserved for Richie. Also, Eddie would rather drink ditch water than bring Mommy's wrath down on Mike's family.

So he sat with Stan in Algebra II with Richie's empty seat stretched between them, day after stupid day. He alternated between staring out the window and checking his phone. Resentment coursed through his exhausted body. How could everything just continue, like nothing had happened?

"Eddie?" Stan tapped his shoulder. "You in there?"

"What?" Eddie blinked at him.

"The bell rang," Stan said, glancing around the empty classroom. Ben hovered at the doorway. They had Spanish next.

The Losers weren't exactly chaperoning him through school. They all took the same classes, with the exception of a few electives. Eddie had Spanish with Ben and Stan (and Richie), Art with Bev (and Richie), Chemistry with Stan (and Richie), History with Ben and Bill (and Richie) and English with everyone. They were all supposed to be there but he could feel their worry bore into his skull. Familiar gratitude and resentment warred inside him. Richie was sitting in the hospital and they worried about Eddie? 

Eddie hated people worrying about him, but he also didn't hear the bell ring all day. He kept walking until someone pulled him into the right room. They herded him around the school until the lunchbell rang.

"I guh-guh-got the cah-car." Bill said, wincing in frustration. "You guh-guys w-wanna g-get s-something?"

"Yes." Eddie said. Anything to get out of the school where Richie so painfully wasn't.

"Burgers?" Bev suggested. 

Eddie didn't care. They piled into Mrs. Denbrough's midsized sedan. She had allowed him to take the car on the condition that he take Georgie to and from school. 

Eddie should've asked about Bill's brother. How he was dealing with Richie's reappearance, and the disturbing similarities between their cases? Two boys taken, tortured and returned. 

Georgie was six, on that rainy afternoon when Bob Gray took him. Morris, now in charge of Richie's case, had found him before the papers really sunk their teeth into Bill's family. That came later, during Gray's trial. Technically, the police never gave Georgie's name but they got it anyway. Even Derry reporters could figure out which first grade boy suddenly lost an arm.

He ought to ask about Georgie, make sure Bill's family was coping with the new psychopath in their midst. Last time, Georgie and Bill's mother had hid out of state for weeks until Georgie had to tesify.

He ought to ask, but he didn't. Georgie was twelve now, as old as they'd been when he went missing but it seemed impossibly young. Eddie didn't think he could handle any bad more news.

They pulled into the parking lot. Bev immediately popped a cigarette in her mouth and asked them to get her a six-piece. The boys went inside, Eddie sandwiched between Stan and Ben. He didn't actually want to eat but they'd worry if he didn't. So he ordered a salad and a milkshake and joined his friends outside.

The day was unseasonably bright. Bev had shed her jacket, revealing a soft green sweater, and started a second cigarette by the time they returned. With a guilty look at Eddie, she took another long drag and extinguished the flame.

"Did Berkman have the quiz today?" Ben asked Bev, who had History in second period.

"Treaty of Versailles," Bev said, swallowing her fries. "You'll ace it."

"Thanks."

The conversation devolved into their classes, exchanging notes and information. Eddie paid less attention than he had in class, but the background noise comforted him. He popped a crouton into his mouth. His hunger returned with a vengeance the moment he tasted salt. He hadn't eaten since dinner at Mike's house, trying to avoid any prolonged conversation with his mother. He stood, suddenly wanting everything on the menu. 

Stan caught his wrist before he could step away. "Eddie, don't."

"What-" then he saw what Stan saw. The familiar blue firebird pulled into the parking lot, driven by one Henry Bowers. He pushed his hand over that stupid fucking mullet as he stood up. He caught sight of them and smirked. Eddie saw red.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"Don't be stupid." Stan tightened his grip.

The others had caught on by now. They watched the remnants of the Bowers gang enter the restaurant. Their numbers had diminished significantly in the last year. Gard Jagermeyer was in prison. Vic Criss and Moose Sadler had disappeared to trade school. Peter Gordon, smart enough to ditch the rest in middle school, went to University of Maine. That left Belch Huggins and Patrick Hockstetter. Belch zipped inside, faster than his girth would suggest, followed by Henry. Patrick smiled, taking in The Losers as if they were part of the menu.

"We should go." Ben said.

"N-no." Bill shook his head furiously, fist shaking.

"Eddie's right!" Bev said, getting up from the table. "Bowers went to the media. You should see some of the shit online!"

Bill nodded.

In that moment, Eddie loved Bill and Bev more than any family he could name.

"I've seen it," Stan snapped, "but starting shit with Bowers doesn't help Richie!"

It would relieve Eddie's feelings. Bev and Bill looked at Stan and Eddie, then at each other. They sat down. Eddie stayed standing, shaking with rage, until Stan pulled him back down.

"We should go," Stan said, echoing Ben who looked like he wanted to hide under the table.

"Fuh-fuck th-th-that!" Bill glared. "It's my cu-cuh-cuh-car! And th-they st-st-st-st-st-arted th-th-at sh-sh-sh-shit!" He slammed his fists on the table, tears of rage and frustration pouring out. Bill pulled out his phone, texting rapidly. Everyone's phone buzzed at once.  
 ****

_**Bill** : [Bowers started this shit in second goddamn grade, Stanley! You think it's gonna end because we keep our heads down?!]_

Stan glared. "That's not what I said, and getting our asses kicked isn't going to stop anything either!"

"We could take them," Bev said, "It's five to three."

Bill pointed at Bev as if to say "See!"

"Three to three." Stan corrected with a nod at Ben.

"Ben can fight," Bev insisted although Ben had never given that impression in six years. In fact, he looked like he was going to be sick.

"I-" He was interrupted by a familiar and despised voice.

"Hey Losers, how's your little faggot friend?" Bowers swaggered up like he wasn't a twenty-two-year-old bullying high school kids. "Heard he got pretty worn out!"

"Sh-sh-shut the fuh-fuh-" 

"Wh-what, B-b-bill?" Bowers sneered as Bill went bright, frustrated red.

"He said shut the fuck up." Stan deadpanned. He twirled a fry between his fingers like it was a blade. "Fuck off, Henry."

Bowers bared his teeth, snarling like an animal. "Listen, Ki-"

Ben tackled him before the slur left his lips. Bill and Bev jumped to his aid as Eddie scrambled over the table. Finally, after weeks of wait and worry, finally he got to hit someone who deserved it. He couldn't kill whoever hurt Richie but he could sink his nails into Patrick Hockstetter's shoulder and pull him back from Bill. Hockstetter grinned and tossed him onto the concrete. Stan swore, leaping on to his back. Hockstetter was still taller than any of them and certainly more practiced at fighting. He slammed Stan back into the table just as Eddie regained his feet. Belch landed a good hit on his stomach, making Eddie see stars. Somewhere out of sight, he heard Henry shout. Then Bev's voice rang out, telling them to run.

They ran, scrambling into Bill's car. Eddie pulled the door closed just as Patrick Hockstetter reached it. He slammed his open palms on the window, still grinning like a demon.

"Fucking drive!" Stan shouted.

Bill peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Bowers, Huggins, and Hockstetter in a cloud of dust. Eddie watched them pile into the firebird, giving chase.

"They're coming." He warned.

"Fuck's sake!" Stan groaned. "What the hell, Ben?!"

Next to Eddie, Ben wiped the blood from his mouth, blinking hard. He was crying, whether from pain or emotion, Eddie couldn't tell.

"Stan, he called you-"

"I know!" Stan snapped. "It's not the first time! You don't have to-"

"Yes, I did!" Ben snarled. "He deserves worse- all the shit he talks about Richie and Mike and Beverly and- you don't get to tell me I can't fight, Stan!"

"You're goddamn right!" Bill said, without any stutter, making a sharp left at the light. 

"I-" Stan huffed and glared out the window.

"You were incredible, Ben," Bev said breathlessly. 

Ben went bright pink. "Really?" 

She nodded furiously. 

"It was stupid," Stan muttered, "but thanks. I guess."

Ben huffed a short laugh.

"Fuck those guys," Bill said. "Did we lose 'em?"

"Yeah," Eddie said, a little breathless. He took out his inhaler, before remembering it was useless. "Should we go back to school?"

No one answered. Bill kept cruising, handsome face brightened with an easy smile. Ben and Bev stared at each other, both grinning, while Stan glared at the road. Eddie leaned back on the seat. His head started to ache from where Patrick threw him. It felt good, having a new ache, so different from the ache of the last forty days. He wished Richie was there.

* * *

11/7/2020

A New "Pennywise"?

By T.R Uth

We all remember the brutal killings that rocked the small Maine city of Derry six years ago. Six children abducted in six months, each found mutilated beyond recognition. After the dramatic rescue of an alleged seventh victim, state police arrested local EMT, Robert Gray, on six counts of first-degree murder, kidnapping, assault, and desecration of a corpse. According to Detective Quincey Morris, Gray murdered Eddie Corcoran, Matthew Clements, Ester Sinclair, Laurie Winterbarger, and Steven Johnson, and cannibalized their bodies. 

**But did he?**

Six years after Bob Gray's arrest, Derry is once again in the spotlight. 18-year-old Richie Tozier disappeared in late September. Initially believed to be a runaway, Tozier's clothing and glasses were found in the woods surrounding Derry, days after he went missing. The case went cold until a few nights ago when Tozier dramatically resurfaced at a friend's house.

But what does this have to do with Bob Gray, who has been trapped in Juniper Hills Asylum for the last six years?

**It just might prove his innocence!**

According to multiple eyewitnesses, Tozier sustained injuries consistent with those found on Eddie Corcoran, namely bite marks. He also had numerous broken bones. Who's to say they weren't amputated and consumed just like Laurie Winterbarger's legs or Steven Johnson's fingers? Reportedly, Tozier has not spoken since his return to Derry. Is he traumatized or did the nutcase tear out his tongue?

Neither the Tozier Family or Quincey Morris has responded to my requests for confirmation but we can hardly be suprised. Morris made his reputation on the conviction of Bob Gray. We all remember the shock thar reverberated around the nation for the six week trial. Bob Gray was a staple of the Derry Community, both as an EMT and a volunteer at Derry General Hospital where sick children knew him as Pennywise the Dancing Clown. That legacy was destroyed by Morris and his kangeroo court. Desperate to quell public outrage, Morris locked up an innocent man, coaching a child to testify against him.

Now it seems, those chickens have come home to roost. Only one question truly remains. **Will the police admit their criminal negligence and release Bob Gray, or will they persist in treating Tozier as a seperate case, or as the seventh victim?**

**Make sure to follow for more updates.**

* * *

Morris looked almost as tired as Richie felt. He stood just outside his room, talking to Dad. He'd been gone for a while, although Richie wasn't a hundred percent sure how long he'd been in the hospital.

Mom sat in her usual spot. She was always there when he woke up and when he fell asleep. For once, she wasn't staring at him but at the doctor, whose name Richie had forgotten.

He should probably be listening to her since she was telling him how to get his hands back. 

"-news is that the antibiotics are working. His temperature is decreasing and his breathing's improved. Barring any complications, he should be ready for surgery in a few days."

Richie looked down at his fingers, taped together so they couldn't move. His mother followed his gaze with a worried frown. "Is surgery the best option? He's been through so much-"

"At this point, it's his only option." She pointed to the x-rays in front of them. "The left hand could get by with buddy taping but the right is severely unstable. The proximal phalanx is shattered on his index, middle and ring fingers."

Eddie could have told him what a proximal phalanx was, or what buddy taping entailed. Richie looked at the pictures and back to his hands. The bones had cracked when he bent them back and twisted, like snapping twigs. Richie had screamed the first time, and he broke another.

_"I told you to keep your mouth shut, Loser. You gonna do what I tell you or do I take another?"_

Richie had nodded, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He lost two more before he learned his place.

_He never snapped the others,_ Richie stared at his left hand, his "good" hand that needed no surgical intervention, _because I learned how to be good._

"It's up to you, of course," the doctor continued, having explained every broken bone, "but the longer we wait, the greater chance of making things worse."

"Richie?" She squeezed his shoulder softly. "Are you alright?"

_No._ He nodded.

"How-" she grimaced, recalling the new rules. Yes or No questions first. "Can you handle surgery so soon?"

_Mommgie, I got crushed fingers and a broken brain,_ he nodded again, _This ain't gettin' any worse._

She smiled weakly. "We'll talk it over with your Dad. Are you tired? Do you need to rest?"

Richie jerked his head toward the door. Maggie followed his eyes. Her smile disappeared. "You don't need to worry about that right now."

_What did they find?_

Richie wanted the last month, or however long it had been, to fade into nothing. He didn't want them to know what happened. He wanted it over, forgotten, faded into silence, but that wasn't possible. They knew too much already. Morris would have to keep digging and digging.

_"Nothing happens unless I let it."_

_I got out._ The memory of that night was still a mess of fog, cold, and pain. _Did you let me out?_

"Richie?"

_Oh. Dad's back._ Richie met the old man's eyes. How did his parent's look so much older than when he left? Eddie had looked exactly the same.

"Detective Morris wanted to ask a few questions."

"No." Maggie shook her head. "Went, he's tired. We can't-"

"Mrs. Tozier, we need a statement before Richie has any surgeries." Morris said. "We can risk the anesthesia affecting his memory."

"How the hell is he supposed to give a statement?" She snapped. "He can't speak."

_Mommy's pissed._ Hearing his mother swear always held a magical property.

"He-" Wentworth took his glasses off and sighed. "Richie, we have the communication board that Dr. Martinez gave you yesterday. I know it's difficult but we have to know exactly what happened. Can you try for us?"

"You don't have to." Mom squeezed his shoulder again. "Richie, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"It's up to you, son." Dad placed the communication board on the tray in front, a laminated paper with the alphabet and a few key words printed. The x-rays had gone somewhere. Richie didn't know where. How long had he zoned out, back in that frozen hell?

_"I told you to keep your mouth shut."_

_"I'll find your little friends and I'll take 'em apart in front of you. You know I will."_

_I know._ He raised his aching hand and pulled it across the board.

G- O

Maggie Tozier crossed her arms. "You heard him. Get out."

Richie shook his head. He kept moving his taped fingers.

NO

MOM

DAD

G- O

T- A- L- K

A- L- O- N- E

His parents looked at each other. Wentworth frowned. "You're sure?"

Richie nodded. 

Maggie winced. "Alright. We'll be outside."

She left without another word. Wentworth laid a hand on his shoulder. "Richie, you- your mother's just worried. We're both- we love you, son. I'm proud of you."

_That's why you need to go._

Morris waited until the door was closed behind them before taking his seat. "Thank you, Richie. I know this is difficult."

NO

U

D- O- N- T

K- N- O- W

T- H- A- T- S

T- H- E

P- R- O- B- L- E- M

Morris gave a humorless chuckle as Richie flopped back on the bed. _This will take forever._

"I need to know what happened to you. You told me you knew who took you, that you'd recognize them. Do you know their name?"

_Go for the kill, huh?_ Richie sighed.

C- A- N- T

"You can't?" Morris repeated, half talking to himself. "Not 'No' but 'Can't'. Why?"

K- I- L- L

M E

Morris leaned forward. "Richie, they can't hurt you anymore. We've got officers watching this place around the clock. No one gets in without clearance."

_"Nothing happens unless I let it."_

Richie shook his head and moved his hand.

K- I-L-L

M-Y

F- R- I- E- N- D- S

"Richie, the best way to protect your friends is to catch whoever hurt you."

He shook his head. _Nothing happens unless he lets it._

Morris bit down on his lip. Richie moved again, dragging his fing across the board.

WHAT

D- I- D

U

F- I- N- D

Morris raised his eyebrow. "What are we looking for?"

C- A- R

"A car? What does that mean?"

Richie winced, forcing himself back to cold steel and motion sickness. An old song played on the radio.

T- R- U- C- K

A- L- W- A- Y- S

M- O- V- E- D

H- A- D

C- L- O- W- N 

O- N 

B- A- C- K 

A clown with a thousand knives for teeth swallowed him whole. Richie could shake the vision. The wounds on his back seemed to open as he moved across the board.

S- I-L- V- E- R

I- N- S- I- D- E

W- H- I- T- E

O- U- T- S- I- D- E

O- L- D

"Do you remember a license plate? Even one number could help."

NO

P- L- A- T- E 

Morris made another mark in his notebook. "This is very good, Richie, but I need to know who hurt you."

C- A- N- T 

He closed his eyes and put down his pencil. "It's someone you know, isn't it?"

Richie didn't move.

"Do your friends know him? Will they-"

NO

_Whatever you're thinking, leave them out of it._

Morris let out a harsh breath. "You're a smart kid, Richie. You know people like that don't just stop. We have to stop them. You can help us."

_"No one is coming for you."_

"We can warn your friends. We can keep them safe."

HOW

"With a name. Richie, we need you to do this. I promise I will do everything I can to protect you and your friends, but I need their name."

_"Nothing happens unless I let it."_

_"Keep your mouth shut."_

_Keep them safe. Keep him safe._

_I can't._

A memory sprung forward, from well before the pain and the cold. Before everything went to hell and Eddie had his arm around his shoulder. His breath smelled like peppermintas he scolded him. _"Well, fucking try, Trashmouth! I'm not losing my best friend because you won't have a conversation!"_

_Eddie._ How long since he found him? He'd touched him, and Richie was safe. Eddie kept him warm, kept him safe. 

_"Take that wheezy lil' bitch and see how long he lasts. See if he can learn faster."_

_No._ Richie swallowed. _No, you won't touch him._

_"Talk to them."_

_No talking, Eds, this is all I've got._ He slid his finger over to the H.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in a universe where this country isn't fucked. Just Derry.
> 
> EDIT: I've switched up Richie's "dialogue" so it'll hopefully be easier to read. Please let me know if I can make it more accessible!
> 
> Anyway, please comment.


	4. November 12th (September 25th)

November 12th

Eddie's mother crossed her arms and frowned. She leaned in the doorway, tutting him. Eddie sat at the kitchen table, finishing his lunch, very pointedly not asking what was wrong. He knew what was wrong. She'd tell him well before he got out the door.

"Do you have your hand sanitizer?" She asked, for the third time.

"The hospital is clean." Eddie stood up and rinsed his plate in the sink. He did have his hand sanitizer, but that wasn't the point.

"Hospitals are teeming with germs," which had never bothered her when she dragged him there for every sniffle and skinned knee for eighteen years. "That boy could-"

"Stop." Eddie said. He picked his coat off the chair and put it on. "I'm going to see Richie. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Eddie, at least let me drive you! You'll catch your death-"

"The reporters will recognize your car." Eddie said. "Richie doesn't need that."

"Nevermind what-"

"Stop." His voice went harsh, anger leaking through his clenched teeth. He slung his backpack over his shoulders. "I'm leaving. I'll see you tonight."

"Eddie-" but he didn't turn back. She'd give him the same speech a dozen times over at dinner, if he returned at all. Eddie had been avoiding the house as much as he could, ever since Richie came back. On the advice/insistence of The Losers Club, he refrained from setting up camp in the hospital lobby. He'd go to their homes after school or hang around with Bev at her aunt's shop. Always, the Richie shaped hole haunted every interaction but the ache had lessened with his return. He'd rather feel that ache on the Hanlon farm, or at Stan's house or Ben's apartment. Anything was better than listening to his mother's thinly veiled criticism. She resented anything that took his attention but he never imagined it would extend so far.

Eddie put it out of his mind, biking toward the hospital. He got to see Richie today! Dr. Tozier had texted him the night before. They didn't want six teenagers cluttering up the hospital but they'd each get one on one time with Richie, until he moved back home. Eddie would be first. No one questioned that. The others decided their order through a combination of debate, light bullying and rock, paper, scissors. Eddie had not paid attention. He was going to see Richie again.

The lone silver lining to Eddie's frequent and imaginary illnesses was that the staff of Derry General knew him on sight. He suspected those relationships had allowed him to sleep in the lobby on that awful first night. Now they allowed him to bypass it entirely. Nurse Torrance met him by the loading dock with a tired smile and lead him down the long corridor to Richie's room.

"Hello, Eddie." Dr. Tozier had shaved since the last time they saw each other. "How are you?"

"Okay." Eddie nodded to the closed door. "Is Richie?"

"He's awake." Dr. Tozier said. "I know he's excited to see you."

"Me too." Eddie's throat tightened. Even if they'd both been out, Eddie doubted he could ever express how much he needed to see Richie again, certainly not to his father.

"He's recovering from the surgery pretty well." Dr. Tozier said, unmistakably proud, "He should be home by the end of the week, assuming all goes well." Eddie's heart leapt. "But he's not- he's still not talking. He's-"

"It can't be any worse than the last time I saw him." Eddie said with a small shudder. As long as Richie was clothed and not actively bleeding, it'd be a step up from that awful night. There was no possible version of Richie behind that door that Eddie didn't want to see.

Dr. Tozier seemed to understand that. He smiled softly, holding the door open.

All the air went out of Eddie's lungs. Richie sat up in bed. He wore a thin teal gown under his Lakers hoodie. His long legs were covered by a heavy gray blanket. His bandaged hands lay on a small tray, atop a laminated sheet of letters and number. He looked up when Eddie entered.

"Hey, Richie," Eddie waved awkwardly in the doorway. Richie smiled weakly. He raised his hand in a silent wave. Only Mrs. Tozier's permanent residence at his bedside prevented Eddie from rushing him. 

"Hi, Eddie." Maggie Tozier smiled, blinking back tears. "Come have a seat."

Eddie nodded dumbly. There was an extra chair on Richie's left side, probably Dr. Tozier's. Eddie took it, shrugging off his coat. Richie stared at him. Chapped lips parted, trembling, like they had that night. A silent apology.

_It's okay._ Eddie itched to touch him, to squeeze his hand or pull him close. He couldn't risk hurting him though. Richie had been hurt enough.

He opened his backpack and removed a brown paper bag. "I picked up your pulls for you," he said, laying the comics on Richie's knees. "Batman's doing a crossover with Flash."

Richie dragged his finger across the page of numbers and letters. S-P-O-I-L-E-R-S

"That's not a spoiler!" Eddie snapped. "It's barely a description."

S-P-O-I-L-E-R-S Richie smiled at him. Eddie hoped Mrs. Tozier didn't notice the way he blushed.

"Whatever." Against his will, Eddie's eyes traveled over the board and Richie's broken hands. "Are... you feeling any better at least?"

Richie nodded. 

"His therapist says Richie's making wonderful strides." Mrs. Tozier beamed. "He'll be home by the end of the week!"

"That's great." His voice cracked against his will. Richie home. Richie safe. Everything he'd wanted for forty days.

Almost everything.

They talked for about twenty minutes. Well, Eddie and Mrs. Tozier talked. Richie ran his fingers across the alphabet board, periodically adding his own asides. They weren't deep. He frowned every time, wincing at the silence where his voice should be. Eddie couldn't blame him. How many nights had he listened to Richie's old voice mails in the last month. He was the only person under forty who still left voicemails, that was how much Richie loved his own voice. 

_And someone took it from him._ Eddie pushed the thought aside. Richie was back. Richie was safe. Everything else was frosting.

Eventually, the room fell quiet. Mrs. Tozier seemed to feel it too. Or maybe Eddie was just too obvious. He couldn't stop looking at Richie. He didn't want to.

She cleared her throat and smoothed her wrinkled pants. "Hoo, boys! I think I missed breakfast. Would you like anything?"

They shook their heads. Maggie turned to her husband, "Went?"

"Think I'll come along, honey." Richie's father pushed himself off the wall where he'd been leaning since Eddie got there. "See if they got more twizlers."

"We'll be right back, hon." She placed a quick kiss on Richie's forehead. 

Then Eddie was alone with Richie for the first time in days. Weeks, if he didn't count those few terrifying moments on his front porch. 

"Richie-" his voice hitched. Every pretext of strength faded as the Toziers closed the door. Grief and gratitude took the form of tears and he turned, brushing them back with his wrist. Richie didn't need to see him weak like that. Still, his voice hitched every time he tried to speak. "Richie-"

Richie didn't make a sound but his fingers brushed his arm. His left thumb, index, and middle finger were all taped together but the pinky and ring were free. Richie slid his fingers down Eddie's arm, to rest on his hand. Eddie shivered. Richie hadn't touched him since he freaked out in the ambulance. He watch Eddie through wide brown eyes and ran his pinky over his knuckles.

"Richie," Eddie swallowed. God knew how much time they had, when Dr. and Mrs. Tozier would return. "Richie, I-" _say it. He needs to know! Just say it!_ "I know everything's weird right now, and I know you're still hurt, and it's okay if you changed your mind or you don't want to-" _for fuck's sake, Kaspbrak._ "You remember that night? When you climbed in my window?"

Richie nodded.

* * *

September 25th 

The window shouldn't have been open. Usually Eddie didn't open his window for anything less than 80 degrees, perfering to swelter rather that admit any germs or wild animals or, being honest, Richie. Tonight was a cool 30 degrees. Normally Eddie's window would be locked and Richie would have worn more than a hoodie if he decided to vacate Casa de Tozier for the evening.

Tonight however, was an emergency. A cataclysmic, devastating, life or death emergency, as Richie had texted twenty minutes ago. 

_[What? Are you sick?]_

He would be probably. _[I'm coming over.]_

_[Can't you just tell me now?]_

_[Leave your window open.]_

Richie smiled when he saw the familiar light on. Of course Eddie had grumbled and told him to fuck off via text but he'd also left the window open. 

Richie scrambled up the trellis and tumbled into Eddie's room. He blinked through the tangle of his own limbs. Eddie put his book down on his desk. He helped Richie to his feet, brushing a twig from his hair.

"Hey-"

"My mom got a job offer." Richie blurted.

"That's great-"

"In Chicago. They want to move to Chicago."

Eddie stared at him, brown eyes suddenly wide. "Oh."

Richie pushed passed him and flopped on to the bed. It smelled fresh washed, unscented, organic detergent. "Edddddddssssss."

Eddie sat down next to him, patting his shoulder. He must have looked pathetic because Eddie didn't object to the nickname. "It's gonna be okay, Rich."

"How?" He rolled over. "Went's all for it. 'People have holes in their teeth all over the place'. Mom's all jazzed to be CFO, whatever that means-"

"Chief financial-"

"I don't care! I'm gonna be starting a new school in senior year. Senior year, Eds! I'll be the new kid senior year! Ben's the new kid, not me!"

"Ben's lived here for six years."

"Yeah, he's had practice! I'm not New Kid material. I'm 'You get used to Richie. He's always like that!"

"You could reinvent yourself." Eddie brushed his fingers over Richie's hair, picking out a stray leaf. His hands were always soft, always warm.

Richie glared at him. "How dare you."

"Sorry." He smiled.

Richie pushed his glasses on to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. Just when he thought he was complacent, Eddie went and smiled at him. The familiar heart flutter turned bittersweet as he remembered what they were talking about. "I don't want to lose you guys."

"You won't," Eddie soothed, clicking his tongue. "This isn't the eighties. We've all got phones and emails and facebook."

"Not the same." He huffed. "What if you forget about me?"

"Not possible." If he didn't know any better, Richie might have thought he sounded fond. "You traumatized us."

"PTRD." He huffed again and rolled over, bumping into Eddie's side. Fingers slid into his hair, rubbing gentle circles into his scalp. Richie let himself enjoy it. He'd take what he could get, touches here and there, all under the guise of platonic affection. Who knew how many more Eddie touches he'd get? He'd need to savor them for the cold Chicago nights.

"This blows chunks, Eds." 

"Maybe she won't take the job." Eddie said. He didn't sound particularly hopeful. "Maybe they'll stay until graduation."

"Doubt it." Richie said. "Maybe I can move in with you. Finally take the next step with Sonia."

"Ugh!" Eddie threw his pillow while Richie laughed.

"Asshole!" His voice went soft again. "Did they say when they wanted to go?"

Richie shook his head. "I didn't ask. Just kind of... booked it."

"Do they know where you are?"

"They think I'm angsting in my bedroom." He huffed. "Half right, I guess."

"You should talk to them."

"Why? They're not gonna listen."

"C'mon," he slid his arm over Richie's shoulder. Warmth surrounded him. Eddie had to know what he was doing. Surely he could feel Richie's heart pounding out of his chest. "Your parents are cool."

He scoffed.

"Well, they're not monsters. They'll listen."

He scoffed again, turning slightly into Eddie's shoulder. Eddie must have brushed his teeth immediately after dinner. His breath smelled like peppermint as he scolded him. "Well, fucking try, Trashmouth! I'm not losing my best friend because you won't have a conversation!"

"Aw, Eds. I never knew you cared."

"Of course I care." Peppermint tooth paste, aloe vera hand sanitizer, ivory soap lingering from his shower. Richie could have died happy, pressed into his shoulder, breathing in Eddie. "Talk to them."

"Fine," Richie sighed.

"Good." 

"Thanks, Eddie." 

"You wanna sleep over? If you don't mind sneaking out before Mom catches you."

"Very chivilrous, Eduardo, but I must decline." _Can't be risked, my love, for I am a weak, weak shell of a man, controlled by base desire. I cannot withstand the temptation of Eddie Kaspbrak's bed._ "I should face Maggie and Went before I lose my nerve."

"Okay," Eddie stood with him, sounding slightly disappointed. "Let me know how it goes?"

"Sure," Richie slung his foot over the window sill. He paused, watching Eddie worry his lower lip. _Cute, cute, cute._ "Promise you won't forget me?"

Eddie blinked. He closed the space between them, grabbing Richie's shoulders. He smelled peppermint for a split second as Eddie kissed him. His mind went totally blank as Eddie pulled him back into the room. Only when they flopped on to the bed, and Eddie gently squeezed his ass, did he come back to himself.

"Eds-"

"See?" Eddie said, breathless. "I won't forget my first kiss."

"Eddie-"

Eddie's eyes went wide. His blush deepened. "Was that okay? I mean you- we-"

Richie kissed him. He brushed his fingers through Eddie's soft hair, felt the shiver of his breath. Everything he'd wanted to do since they were eleven years old. 

"Richie," Eddie moaned softly and _Christ!_ Richie never heard his name before.

"Eds, Eddie!" He couldn't say anything else. What else even mattered? 

Time slowed perfectly. They made out on Eddie's bed. His tongue pushed into Richie's mouth, hesitant, clumsy and so fuckin' good. How was he ever content with platonic touches? How had he lived this long without kissing him? He might as well have been holding his breath for eighteen years.

Eventually, he flopped on top of Eddie, requring actual breath. "Definately not going to Chicago now."

"Richie," Eddie breathed.

"Yeah?"

Eddie shook his head. He pressed his face into Richie's chest. "Richie."

They lay together. Eddie toyed with his hair, sighing softly. 

"So um..." Richie swallowed, "not that I'm complaining but why-?"

"I like you," Eddie said. "You were freaking out about stupid shit and I wanted you to stop and... I like you."

"Good." Richie nodded. "I like you too."

Eddie kissed him softly. Richie sighed, still and happy for the first time in his life.

"You sure you don't wanna stay the night?" He asked.

"I wanna stay forever," Richie murmured, "but I should go talk to Maggie and Went. Tell them I'm not going anywhere."

Eddie blinked. "You're gonna come out?"

Richie shrugged. "Maybe? Mags and Went are- well, not cool but they're not total douchebags. Can I assume we're not telling Sonia?"

Eddie scoffed. "Only if you want me under house arrest."

"Very much no," Richie muttered. He toyed with the edge of Eddie's shirt. How was this allowed? "But she might suspect something when I dump her."

Eddie smacked his shoulder. His fingers closed around the bone. Eddie flipped him on to his back. In an instant, they both stilled, staring at each other.

It wasn't like he'd never been there before, underneath Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie liked to pick at him, annoy the short fuse into physical retaliation. He tried, sometimes, to win their wrestling matches but they almost always ended like this. Eddie straddled Richie's thighs, small hands pressed into his chest, breath hot on his face. So close, so painfully close, uncrossable inches between them. 

Except now everything was different. Now they could close the space, like he'd imagined so many times. Eddie felt it too. His lips parted, soft and trembling.

"Eds?" Eddie kissed him. He pulled back suddenly. He stared at Richie, panting softly. "Holy shit. That was so fucking hot."

Eddie got up. He backed up into his desk and covered his face with his hands.

Richie sat up on his elbows, suddenly terrified. "Eddie?"

"You need to go." Eddie muttered, voice cracking. 

"Eds, I'm sorry." _Shit! Shitshitshit!_ _How the fuck I did I fuck this up so fucking fast?!_

"No, I mean-" Eddie looked up with a weak smile. "I mean if you don't leave right now, we're definately gonna wake my mom."

"Oh." Eddie's cheeks were bright red. His adam's apple throbbed.

Richie grinned. He sat up, heart racing, and crossed the room. He brushed his fingers over those bright red cheeks. They were warm. His pulse stuttered as Richie kissed his neck.

"I don't have any condoms."

"Jesus Christ, Eds," he pushed his forehead into Eddie's shoulder. "You are really bad at convincing me to leave."

"Richie..." fingers curled in his hair, "please."

"Please?"

"I'm serious."

"Okay," he pulled back, grinning, hands us. "I'll go."

"I don't-" Eddie squeaked and cleared his throat. "I don't really want you to go."

"I know." He couldn't stop smiling.

"It's just-" Eddie glanced at his bedroom door. Richie knew Sonia slept just two doors down. He knew Eddie was right. Richie had a hard enough time shutting his trashmouth in normal circumstances. Getting sexed by Eddie Kaspbrak definately wasn't gonna make the cut.

"Went and Maggie have date night on Friday." Eddie bit his lip, which should have been illegal, "maybe..."

"Maybe." Eddie said, nodding wildly.

Richie kissed him again, pushing his tongue into Eddie's mouth. "Richie-" Eddie groaned against him.

"I know. I'm going." He pulled back, heading toward the window. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Eddie wiped the spit from his mouth, eyes shining. "Talk to your parents."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Richie swung his leg over the window sill and saluted. Eddie laughed, the most beautiful sound in the world. 

"Richie!" He ran toward the window, caught his jacket, and kissed him. "I really don't want you to go."

"I know," Richie said. "I'll see you at school."

"Bye." Eddie held on to him, hands trembling. His eyes shone into Richie's, brighter than the stars. He smiled goofily. 

Richie smiled back. With another quick kiss, he hopped down to the ground. Somehow gravity still worked. He turned back and waved up at Eddie. Eddie stared down at him, like he was the only person in the world. He waved. Richie turned and booked it.

He wouldn't make it home for another month.

* * *

November 12th 

Eddie swallowed. The tears fell unencumbered. "I meant everything I said that night. I still- I wanna be with you. Whatever that looks like now, I want it. I know you're still hurt and I know you'll need time but I'm here for however long you want and it's cool if you changed your mind or you're not ready or-"

Richie tapped his pinky down on Eddie's wrist. He nodded rapidly, meeting Eddie's gaze with red hot intensity.

"Richie?"

He nodded again, more emphatically. Chapped lips parted over and over, mouthing shapes Eddie couldn't interpret. Richie winced, frustrated with his own silence. He took his good fingers off of Eddie's hand and tapped the letter board.

M-E

2

M-E

2

M-E

2

M-E

2

Eddie took his hand back, carful not to squeeze. "Richie." His voice came in a shaking squeak. "You're sure?"

Richie nodded again. He leaned forward, wincing at the sudden movement.

"Don't!" Eddie pulled his chair closer. "You're still hurt, Rich!"

Richie shook his head. He cupped Eddie's cheek, wiping the tears with clumsy tapped fingers.

"Richie," Eddie said, unable to think of anything else.

Richie nodded, still mouthing the same silent word. Eddie bent to meet him, pressing his forehead to Richie's neck. He should have pulled back, not risked upsetting the Toziers when they inevitably returned, not risked upsetting Richie's healing wounds. He didn't. Richie's fingers glided across his skin, down his neck to his shoulder. He stopped abruptly, pulling his hand away from a fading bruise.

"Richie?"

Richie opened his mouth and winced. 

WHO

H-U-R-T

U

Eddie shrugged. The bruise didn't even hurt any more. "It's nothing. Bowers and his fucking groupies. You should have seen Ben-"

But Richie's whole body shook. He tapped emphatically on the communication board, again and again.

WHO

"Hockstetter," Eddie said. He felt as if he might throw up. "He went after Bill so I- Richie! Hey, Richie!"

It looked like a seizure. Richie shook his head with such violence that his glasses flew off. Heedless of his broken fingers, he seized Eddie's arms, tight enough to bruise. His mouth closed with a crack of teeth, ripping into flesh-

"Richie!" The Toziers were there in a moment. Dr. Tozier freed Eddie's arms and brushed him back toward the door. Maggie knelt next to her son, trying to stop the shaking.

"What happened?!"

He'd never heard Wentworth Tozier shout like that. "I don't know!" Eddie shuddered. "I don't- we were talking and he just-"

Richie slammed his hand on the communication board. Eddie's stomach knotted itself as his fingers jerked from letter to letter and everything slotted into place.

S-T-A-Y

A-W-A-Y

F-R-O-M

H-O-C-K-S-T-E-T-T-E-R

T-O-O-K

M-E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to drag it out longer but i'm sure most of y'all guessed already  
> Please comment. I need them right now.


	5. November 13th

In all of Derry, Stan liked the Hanlon farm best. He wondered, sometimes, if the few serene acres were even inside the city limits. Surely, there had to be some kind of bylaw in the city charter that prohibited this kind of happiness in Derry.

Then he remembered Mike shared a property line with Henry Bowers and the world made sense again.

Generally, the Losers avoided that particular part of Mike's farm. Bowers gave them enough problems at school and in town, they didn't need to loiter around his literal homebase. Even now, with all the desperate times and their measures, Stan didn't want to get too close. He watched Henry through his binoculars, hidden carefully in the tree shelter. Mike leaned against the tree, taking his hands in and out of his pockets.

"You think he knew?" Stan asked, watching Bowers widdle something with a too large knife.

"Wouldn't put it passed him." Mike said. "Remember how he cut up Ben?"

Nobody was likely to forget that. Especially not Ben, who still had the H scar on his stomach. _Welcome to Derry._

"Richie didn't mention him." Stan said. "Just Patrick."

It felt weird to refer to the man that tortured and multilated Richie by his first name but Stan couldn't break the habit. He'd known, or at least been aware of, Patrick Hockstetter, most of his life. He'd attended Mrs. Uris' daycare with Stan, Bill and Richie, along with the little brother that abruptly stopped attending. The second they started public school, Patrick was on top off them, joining Bowers in near constant torment. 

_We should have known._ Stand thought, lowering his binoculars. _Of course it would have been one of them._

It had occurred to him before, when Richie first disappeared, that the culprit might have been Bowers and his gang. They'd cornered one of the Losers often enough. Hell, Patrick had broken Eddie's arm in middle school and Henry'd poisoned Mike's dog. As the weeks wore on, Stan dismissed the theory. Bowers and his crew like to smash and run. If they'd been responsible, Richie would have shown up in a couple days at most, all broken glasses and bruises. Or they would have found a body.

Stan shivered. He hadn't believed his childhood bullies capable of more than stupid, petty evil. Richie's torture smacked more of Pennywise, smarter and crueler than either Bowers or Hockstetter.

Stan had been wrong. He brought the binoculars back to his eyes, searching out the Patrick's lanky form. He looked so obstinently normal, knocking back a beer while he watched Henry work. Not for the first time, Stan was glad he and Mike kept their little stake out a secret from the others. Only the knowledge that Henry and Patrick would kill them without turning a hair kept Stan from crossing the property line to confront them. He doubted Bill or Bev would consider that before leaping in to avenging battle. Since the parking lot brawl, Stan couldn't even depend on Ben to keep his head down.

"We don't know what Richie remembers about it," Mike said, "or what he's willing to tell. Even if Bowers didn't actually participate in..." he shuddered and rubbed the back of his neck. "He could've known. He'd probably think it's funny."

Yeah, Stan could see that. Across the field, Patrick said something that made Bowers laugh. Something about Richie?

"Why the fuck isn't he arrested?" 

Mike shrugged. "Cops."

Yeah, Stan could see that too. Patrick didn't get arrested when he broke Eddie's arm, even with Mrs. K screaming her head off. None of the Bowers gang ever got in an ounce of trouble for the shit they pulled on the losers. Mike, on the other hand had been pulled over three times a month since he started driving. 

Across the field, Patrick finished his beer. He tossed it across the yard. The tinkle of breaking glass reached Stan's ears. The older boy leaned back in his rusty metal chair with his hands behind his head. He looked directly at Stan.

The binoculars fell with a small thump against his chest. Stan stepped back, belatedly realizing that there was no possible way he could have been seen. They were a good thirty yards from the Bowers back porch, protected by the shelter trees.

_He didn't see me._ He raised the binoculars again. Patrick had turned back to Henry, grinning with all his teeth. _He's not the fucking boogeyman. No way he could've seen me._

Still, Stan suddenly needed to be anywhere else in the world. Mike seemed to agree. Wordlessly, he put his hand on Stan's shoulder and led him out of the tree shelter.

Stan winced at the sudden light. The pasture was gray brown, washed out by November sun. 

"Hey, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"You guys lock your doors, right?" 

"Naw," He slung his arm around Stan's shoulder, long fingers brushing at his curls. "This is our first day being black."

Stan huffed. "Funny," except it wasn't. Nothing had been really funny since September. Still, he let his jaw relax as he leaned into Mike's broad chest.

* * *

After her baby boy was abducted at six years old, Sharon Denbrough got slightly over protective. That was how the family therapist phrased it. Sharon felt she'd actually been under protective up to that point. The Denbrough's laissez-faire attitude to parenting had cost Georgie his arm and Sharon was convinced that someday, some pedophile, or psychopath, or cannibalistic clown would be back for the rest of him.

Bill, Sharon's non-baby boy, had pointed out that did not make sense.

Not to her face.

_"You didn't do anything wrong,"_ Bill told his brother, with all the certainty of fifteen. _"Guh-guh-gray isn't some muh-monster under the bridge, Georgie. He's a ruh-rotton son of a bitch that had been hurting kids for years before he took you. You're allowed to run around outside without worrying about that kind of shit, and you're allowed to go online without M-m-mom buh-breathing down your neck."_

Georgie grinned at the swear words. His brother was so cool.

Bill had set the laptop between them on his bed. _"Do not t-tell her I sh-sh-showed you how to do this."_

Bill didn't need to tell him twice. He didn't need to remind Georgie not to meet up with strangers or to tell Bill if he saw anything that made him uncomfortable, online or off, but he did. He told Georgie not to mention his age or where he went to school. He also reminded Georgie that people like Pennywise were the exception, not the rule, showing him how to bypass Sharon's parental surveillance. _"Most kids are ab-duh-duh-ducted by suh-someone they know." He said, again and again. "If suh-somebody- if anything sc-sc-scares you or feels weird or whatever, Georgie, you gotta let me know. Whatever it is, I won't be mad. Even if you muh-mess up, I just want you to be happy and safe, okay?"_

_"Okay, Bill."_

Bill had pulled him into an awkward half hug and ruffled his hair. _"Luh-love ya, kid."_

Two years after that afternoon, Georgie snuck back into Bill's room and fished their secret laptop out from under his bed. His mother was downstairs, engaged in hushed phone conversation with Mrs. Tozier. He had maybe thirty minutes to check his email and social media before she came looking for him.

Georgie did not check his social media. He checked his email, purely on muscle memory, then typed _Pennywise_ into the search engine.

Six years after losing his arm, Georgie still didn't entirely understand what happened to him. He'd been outside, splashing into newly formed puddles. Then something that felt like claws grabbed him. Georgie woke up feeling sick, in a cold white room with icky brown red stains on the wall. A clown with a big red smile waved from the corner.

_"Hiya, Georgie!"_

Later, a man with a beard explained that the clown was Robert Gray, a man who liked to hurt kids. He had hurt lots of kids before Georgie. He would have kept hurting kids if Georgie wasn't so brave and helped the police find him. If Georgie could be brave just a little longer and tell Judge Andersen what happened, then she and the detectives would make sure Gray would go away forever.

Georgie had told the judge about the bits of flesh around his prison, how the clown had screamed and snarled at him and laughed when he cried. He told her how Pennywise put needles in his shoulder and sawed off his arm. He told her how he burned the stump, so Georgie wouldn't die.

_"Tastes better when you're scared."_

Later, on Bill's secret computer, Georgie learned the rest of his story. He had been playing outside. His mother stepped inside for her phone. She hadn't been gone for two minutes before Robert Gray had injected him with quick acting anesthesia and bundled him into the car. The news report said that Gray had been stalking Georgie for nearly two weeks. He volunteered at the hospital and noticed Georgie over two months before when Bill had his appendix removed. The detective with the beard later found pictures in Gray's apartment: Georgie playing at recess, shopping with his mother, walking home with Bill, looking out his bedroom window. He found pictures of the other kids too, the kids who died.

Georgie jumped as the door creaked open, instinctively pushing the laptop back under the bed. Bill raised his eyebrows and closed the door. "H-h-hey, Juh-Georgie."

"Hey, Bill." Georgie said. "How's Richie?'

Bill sat next to him on the floor. He pushed his fingers through his hair. "That bad, huh?"

"H-h-he's st-st-st-still nuh-not ta-ta-ta-ta-talking," Bill winced at his stutter. It had gotten steadily worse since his friend went missing. "Buh-buh-but- fuck!"

Georgie pulled out his phone, a painfully outdated flip phone Sharon got him "for emergencies". "Do you want to text it?"

Bill nodded, taking out his smart phone. In a moment, Georgie's phone buzzed. _[He gets to go home this weekend.]_

"That's good." 

_[He's still scared.]_

Georgie put his arm around Bill's shoulder. Richie wasn't the only one who got scared. Bill shivered.

_[Hockstetter is still out there.]_

Georgie shivered. "Do you think he'll-"

Bill shrugged. 

"It's Morris, right?" Georgie said. "He's the one who found me. He'll make sure Richie's okay."

Bill closed his eyes. _[I don't think that's an option.]_

"Hey." Georgie said. "If I got to be okay, Richie can too. You know all about speech therapy, and trauma. You'll help him, like you helped me."

Bill turned and hugged him close. "Th-thanks, Juh-Georgie. I luh-luh-luh-"

"Love you too." Georgie said.

They broke apart, smiling awkwardly. Bill took out his phone.

_[R u ok?]_

"Yeah." _Everyone's talking about the guy who ate my arm again and I'm having nightmares about him for the first time in two years, but it's not about me right now. It's about Richie and I don't want you to worry about me too._ "I'm fine."

Bill frowned. He always knew when Georgie lied. He didn't say anything, or reach for his phone.

"Do you think I could visit Richie too?" Georgie asked. "Once he's home?"

"I-I-I'll ah-ah-ah-ask-kuh. Wuh-want the luh-luh-luh-lap t-top t-t-to-n-night?"

Georgie nodded. Usually the computer lived under Bill's bed, but Georgie could take it for "important research", which Bill usually said with a wink. Georgie never knew how to explain that he really just needed it for research.

"C-c'mon. D-d-dinner's ruh-ready."

The brothers headed downstairs, with a quick stop at Georgie's room to hide the laptop. Sharon would insist on checking on him before she went to bed. He'd have to wait until his parents were asleep, or wake up early, to finish his search. 

It was probably nothing. He was stressed and Richie's abduction brought back bad memories, memories warped by trauma and time. Pennywise killed five other kids before he took Georgie. Eddie Corcoran, Matthew Clements, Ester Sinclair, Laurie Winterbarger, and Steven Johnson. He told Georgie that fear gave the best flavor, that's why he was alive today. He probably kept the other kids alive while he ate them too. It was one of them, Eddie Corcoran or Matthew Clements or Ester Sinclair or Laurie Winterbarger or Steven Johnson, who Georgie saw in his nightmares. One of them had to be the small, dark haired kid, who grinned with all of their teeth as Pennywise cut through his bones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review.


	6. November 15th

The worst monsters, the most dangerous ones, looked exactly like people. Bob Gray was a tall, affable man with even features and a hearty laugh. He connected, quickly and easily, with anyone he came in contact with. Quincy Morris has shaken his hand after questioning him about Laurie Winterbarger's disappearance. He'd been cooperative, more helpful than anyone else they interviewed. It was roughly six months later that they discovered a severed arm in his freezer.

No one would describe Patrick Hockstetter as affable. He was cool in the way that became exponentially more pathetic the older you got. With straight ebony hair cut just passed his chin and flawless skin, he looked one of the "sexy" vampires so popular these days. He sat in the interrogation room, such as it was, looking like he owned the entire Derry Police Department. He might as well have been drinking a beer. 

Detective Morris sat on the otherside of the glass, searching for some sign of the depravity Richie Tozier described. He'd taken a class on body language after the debacle of Robert Gray. It told him that Patrick Hockstetter was completely relaxed, not at all worried about why he was in a police office. 

That in it's self should have been damning. Testimony from Eddie Kaspbrak, to say nothing of Richie Tozier, described a kid who should have been intimately acquainted with the inside of a police station from the age of ten. Yet, according to DPD's official records, this was Patrick Hockstetter's first time here. 

Morris sighed. The search for the white truck with a clown painted on the back yielded no results. None of the DNA found on Richie Tozier yielded any match. Hockstetter sat in the interrogation room, surrounded by old file boxes that had moved when the basement flooded, solely on the testimony of a traumatized teenager.

It was all Detective Morris had. What a monster hunter he turned out to be.

Morris stood, finishing his coffee.

"Sorry for the wait," he sat down on the other side of the table. "Just a few questions and you're free to go."

Patrick shrugged. "Whatever."

"What can you tell me about Richie Tozier?"

The boy blinked. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb." Morris said. "You attend the same schools for the better part of a decade. I've got a half dozen witnesses that say you made his life hell until the day you graduated."

_And well beyond._

Patrick Hockstetter smiled. His teeth sunk down into his lower lip. "You're gonna have to be more specific. There's a lot of kids I messed with in school."

"Messed with?" Sonia Kaspbrak had shown him pictures of her son's broken arm.

"I'm not proud of it," he lied, closing his eyes. "I was an asshole. Lots of us were assholes. I didn't know the state police were investigating wedgy cold cases."

"So you have no recollection of Richie Tozier."

Hockstetter paused, frowning slightly. Then he shrugged. "Naw. But I took lunch money, not business cards."

"Where were you on the evening of September twenty fifth?"

He blinked again. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I can run home and check my diary," Hockstetter offered. "Am I suspect or something?"

"I'm just looking for information."

Hockstetter leaned back in his chair and staired up at the ceiling. "September twenty fifth. I don't know. I usually get off work around 6, grab a couple beers, and head home by 8."

_Richie Tozier went to the Kaspbrak residence at 8:30. He left at 9:15._ "Can your supervisor at the hatchery verify that time line?"

He rolled his eyes. "We didn't have a heart to heart. You can check my time card."

"I will." He made a note to talk to the supervisor, and see how long it took to get from the hatchery to the Kaspbrak house. "Did you talk to anyone after work?"

"Got a beer with Henry Bowers. Down at Grady's. Butch was there too."

Morris made another note. He was far too familiar with Officer Bowers. If that Jackass walked in soaking wet and told him it was raining, Morris would have to check the weather report. Grady's had a regular bartender though, with no obvious reasons to lie. Checking the alibi would be nothing. "Did anyone see you after you left Grady's?"

Patrick shrugged. "Probably. Dad might've heard me come in but Ma was probably zonked by then."

"You live with your parents." Morris made a note to talk to the Hockstetters.

"That's right," he smiled. "Dad's usually up late. Gets a lot of calls from the DA, consultant shit."

He said it like a slam dunk, like Morris didn't know exactly who Gerald Hockstetter was, as if he'd haul the kid in without so much as googling his last name. Not that he'd needed google. Morris never met the man in person, but state prosecutor had retired shortly after the Hockstetters lost their youngest son. The wife was a couple decades younger, and the loss hit her hard. Morris didn't envy her side of the investigation. 

"So..." Patrick drummed his open palms on the table, "we good?"

Morris exhaled. "We're done for the moment. Don't leave town."

The last surviving Hockstetter child chuckled as he stood up. "Why would I wanna do that?"

* * *

Richie's room was the same. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Only a few weeks had passed, however long it felt. Of course it was the same, down to his backpack slung over his desk chair and the over due homework crumpled inside it.

Richie thought it looked like Mars, but the Ray Bradbury version where the Martians could read your mind and create your whole hometown to lure you into a false sense security before they ate your brain. It shouldn't be here. His comic books and t-shirts and posters shouldn't exist in the same world as Patrick Hockstetter's cold truck. He kept waiting for it to fade, to wake up alone in the dark.

It didn't. He walked in under his own power, bracketted by his parents. They'd wrapped him up tight against the winter cold and the reporters. They kept his hood up so no one could snap a picture of his face.

Maggie guided him up the stairs, extra careful, while his bandaged hand slid over the banister. It felt realler when he was touching something, when he could hear his mother's voice. 

"We can stay with you tonight, if you want," she offered as they reached the bedroom. 

Richie wanted to argue. He wanted to believe that he could just lay down in his own bed and fall asleep with his ear buds in. He wanted to tell his mother that he'd be fine, thanks but no thanks.

But he still couldn't talk. He still jumped when his father slammed the car door.

So he nodded. Maggie helped him undress and pull on his pjs. Wentworth brought the air mattress up from the basement while she brushed her teeth. Richie settled back on his sheets, trying not to feel pathetic. He tried not to think of the last time he lay in his own bed, stiffling a scream into his pillow as frustrated tears soaked the fabric. He'd been so angry with his parents, so angry over something so trivial that he couldn't stand to stay in the same house. So he'd opened his window and leapt into the backyard, as he'd done a hundred times before. He might as well have remembered a past life. The idea of moving like that again felt as impossible as flying.

"Richie?" His father sat down on the bed. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

_Yes._ He pressed into Went's chest, silent sobs wracking his broken body. Familiar hands, still as impossibly large as they felt when he was a kid, pressed into his hard, attempting to sooth. His mother brought his pain killers and a glass of water. Richie took them, grateful for the medicated hazy that descended, grateful for his parent's murmured comforts, grateful for the darkness that finally settled in.

* * *

The light was on, just as it had been on the night Richie came to him. Patrick turned off the engine and the headlights and watched the soft glow from behind closed curtains. He'd seen it often enough on many moonlit trips to the Tozier house. The light blinked out. He waited.

The window didn't open that night, as it had a few weeks ago. That made sense. The little bitch was in no shape to go climbing out of windows. He'd made sure of that.

Would he be able to sleep there, up in the dark? Patrick undid his fly without looking, still focused on the darkened window. He never let his gaurd down in the truck, not unless it was beaten out of him. He got smart enough to close his eyes and lie Patrick ordered it, but he didn't sleep unless he was exhausted.

_Do you think your safe up there?_

No. Even the stupidest bitch had the capacity to learn. Nothing happened unless Patrick let it happen. Surely even Richie had figured it out right now.

He imagine him in his bed, curled up in a fruitless attempt to protect himself. Maybe the dentist and his wife were there, lying to him. Patrick didn't particularly care if they were. Richie knew the truth, that he'd come when Patrick wanted him, as he had so many times before.

He took himself in hand, enjoying the Richie's fear even from the distance. A lesser God, if such a thing could even exist, might have resented the distance. Not Patrick. Sending Richie away was no different than making Henry change the oil in Patrick's car. No sense in letting a thing fall apart while you wanted to use it. Let them patch the doll back together before Patrick claimed him again.

He finished in silence. In his mind, Richie's eyes were wide and brown. He could taste the fear as he licked his palm. He knew Richie could see him too, even up in the dark bedroom, in his parody of sleep. He knew Patrick would claim him again, as soon as the mood struck him. 

He turned the car on, wiping his hand on the passenger seat. A woman crooned softly over the radio as Patrick raised the volume. _"Dream a little dream of me,"_

He drove away, letting the other boy dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks and please review


	7. (September 26th) November 17th

September 26th

The fire at his feet crackled softly against the silence of early morning. It's hunger warmed him, begging for more fuel. Patrick Hockstetter, in a rare act of benevolence, tossed a blue t-shirt into the orange flame. The fire devored some grinning cartoon face, growing stronger at Patrick's command.

No other sound interrupted the fire's hiss and crackle. There had been plenty before. Richie shouted and cursed. Flesh met flesh in dull thuds and splats. He'd squeaked when Patrick's fingers curled around his throat. Pale skin went red as he tried to wiggle free. He didn't. 

He stilled under Patrick's weight, just as he knew he would. His fingers dropped from Patrick's wrists as consciousness left him. 

For a moment, Patrick considered staying. As Richie's pulse slowed beneath him, he imagined feeling it stop entirely. What would it mean to watch Richie Tozier turn blue like Avery had, to feel him go entirely still and cold.

He dismissed the idea almost instantly, leaning back on Richie's stomach and allowing his breath to return. 

He'd wasted Avery. He was just a child after all, without the foresight to really get the most out of his baby brother. His mother found the body and stuck it down in the earth before Patrick could really enjoy the decay. Patrick didn't intend to squander Richie Tozier's death. He'd waited too long for that.

Richie had stirred beneath him. Patrick was ready for that. The Hatchery used it to kill fish but Mr. Tanner's Great Dane just fell asleep for six hours and he was fine. Patrick got $50 bucks for bringing the stupid mutt back. Tozier went still again as the rag pressed into his face. Patrick pulled back as waited. Richie breathed. He didn't wake.

After that, it was a simple matter of stripping him, binding his wrists and ankles, and disposing of his worldly possessions. Patrick hoisted the dead weight of Richie Tozier over his shoulder with relative ease. They'd both grown but Patrick still had a couple of inches on his prey. Patrick had spent five years preparing to take Richie Tozier. Of course he could lift him.

Now Richie lay in the back of the locked van, his clothes burning in the forest. Patrick flipped open the childish orange wallet he'd found in his jeans. He pocketed the few wrinkled dollars, tossed a faded photo roll into the flames and took out the cards. Richie's license photo grinned up at him. Patrick cut through his face, then cut through the distinguishing information.He separated the pieces and tossed half into the fire. The others he'd bury in the dump, whenever he wasn't otherwise occupied. Debit, emergency credit, and library cards all met the same fate. The glasses he snapped in half, crushing the lens under his boot heel. He watched them melt slowly in the flames. Behind him, the van was quiet. Richie would wake soon enough, blind and defenseless. He'd be at Patrick's mercy. He'd always been at Patrick's mercy, what little existed. 

The sun would rise before Richie and Patrick wanted to be out of Derry when it did. A few more moments of flame and he stamped out the fire. He'd return later, to make sure the evil was well hidden. Not that it was necessary. No one found anything unless Patrick wanted them to.

Kicking dirt over the remains of Richie Tozier's life, Patrick returned to his prey

* * *

November 17

Mike, unconstrained by Derry Public schools, came just after ten o'clock. He carried a large steaming casserole which he handed to Maggie with a greeting from his grandmother. Richie could smell onions and cream of onion soup. Mike caught him staring and smiled.

He stood, legs shaking, trying to brace himself on the armrest. His father put his hand on his back, fingers splayed wide to balance him. 

Then Mike took over. Strong arms circled Richie's shoulders, squeezing gently. Richie buried his face in his broad chest. Mike smelled like casserole and hay and the sunshine. "It's good to see you, Richie." Mike said, gently patting his hair. 

Richie hummed, the only sound he felt comfortable making, nodding into his friend's puffy red coat. 

Mike set him back down on the couch, keeping one hand on Richie's shoulder. "How do you feel?"

Richie sighed and pulled his communication board between them. 

P-R-E-T-T-Y

S-H-I-T-T-Y

"I believe it." Mike said. "Everybody says hi, by the way."

Richie glanced as his mother as she returned from the kitchen. 

B-E-N

I-S

C-O-M-I-N-G

T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W 

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "Fair warning, he's been collecting your homework for you."

I

L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y 

C-A-N-N-O-T 

H-O-L-D 

A

P-E-N

"I'm just telling you what happens," Mike said. Richie basked in his easy smile. "The only reason I got here first is 'cause they're all in school right now."

A-N-D

B-E-C-A-U-S-E 

M-O-M

S-A-I-D

O-N-E

V-I-S-I-T-O-R 

P-E-R

D-A-Y

"Richie," Maggie flushed and wiped her hands on her slacks. "I just don't want you to be overwhelmed again. Is that so insane?"

"Maggie," her husband did not look up from his word puzzle, "don't air the laundry just yet, please."

"Fine." Her voice was clipped, then transformed instantly into the welcoming hostess. "Mike, can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, Mrs. Tozier."

"Richie? Went?"

NO

"Some water would be lovely, thank you."

Maggie nodded and returned to the kitchen. Wentworth leaned over. "If you boys want to converse privately, now is the time." With that he stood up and joined his wife.

Richie turned back to Mike.

W-H-A-T 

D-I-D 

E-D-D-I-E 

S-A-Y

Mike closed his eyes at the memory. "He said Patrick Hockstetter was the- that he took you."

Richie nodded

"He didn't mean to." Mike said, misinterpreting the look on Richie's face. "He panicked, I think."

_Him and me both._

G-L-A-D

H-E

T-O-L-D

Y-O-U

Y-O-U

G-U-Y-S

S-H-O-U-L-D

K-N-O-W

Mike swallowed. "Richie, I can't begin to understand what-"

G-O-O-D

_If anyone of you ever understands what he did, I'm going to toss myself into the canal._

Mike nodded. He put his hand on Richie's shoulder again, a steady anchor in the sea of feelings. He stayed there, quietly waiting until Richie could lift his unbandaged finger again. 

D-I-D

H‐E

S‐A‐Y

A‐N‐Y‐T‐H‐I-N-G

E‐L‐S‐E

Mike tilted his head, watching Richie carefully. "He said you seemed better... until you told him about-"

YES

_Let's leave those demon worms in their can, okay, Mikey?_

"What Eddie supposed to tell us something?" Mike said carefully.

Richie hesitated over his communication board. Was Eddie supposed to tell them something? Like they'd made out before everything went to hell? Like maybe they were boyfriends now? Or had been for thirty seconds before Richie lost his shit again? 

"Richie?"

He didn't tell them, whether he was supposed to or not. Mike watched Richie carefully, waiting for an answer. Richie couldn't think of an answer. He didn't have a real answer. Whatever he and Eddie were, if they were anything anymore, couldn't be spelled out on a glorified ouija board.

And Mike had his hand on his shoulder again.

I

O-K

I

F-I-N-E

Mike frowned, biting his lip, but he didn't question Richie further. Maybe he would have if Maggie and Went hadn't returned at that moment, carrying coffee. Went was carrying coffee while Maggie set a large travel mug of water, complete with straw in front of Richie.

"If you don't want it, don't drink it, but it's important to keep your throat lubricated.

Richie exhaled deeply. She could pour the amazon river down his throat, it wouldn't make him talk. Richie took a sip.

"So, Mike," Dad patted his knee. "How's the farm?"

Mike stayed, chatting idly with the Toziers, making sure Richie was included. Richie did his best to be included, for all that his thoughts could only get out through sliding his fingers.

Finally Mike stretched his arms wide and stood up. "I should head back. I'll see you soon, Richie."

O-K

Richie stood on wobbly legs and hugged his friend, trying to put everything he wanted to say in one embrace. _Thanks, Mikey. Thank you for remembering me._

Mike squeezed him tight. They held onto each other for a little too long, more than matched the normalcy he'd wanted from the visit. Richie sat again, falling into his place on the couch. Mike nodded, wiping his eyes with his thumb and clearing his throat. "I'll see you soon." It sounded like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mike Hanlon so goddamm much.  
> This is short but the turn around will be quicker.  
> Please comment


	8. (September 27th) November 18th

September 27th

Patrick wasn't 100% sure where they were. The truck was far too old for GPS and his phone had been off for hours. He'd seen a sign for Bangor, 50 miles away, about a half hour ago and turned down another back road. Beyond that there was nothing but dead trees and pasture, and Richie shouting from the back.

He'd started roughly thirty miles outside of Derry, as if some internal wire was tripped when they got far enough away. It started with indignation. It wasn't pleasant to wake up naked amd bound in a moving vehicle. Richie had been clear about that. He demanded answers and help in equal measure. When neither came, he resorted to threats, promises and outright begging, all peppered with obscene phases. Patrick ignored them.

"Please," a hoarse voice called behind him as one song switched to the other. "Please just let me go. I swear I won't-"

Patrick turned the music up.

He liked the begging. Richie begged better than most. Not so much in content. That was the same across the board. Lots of crying, lots of "please" and "don't" and "stop." All very fun and common place. For Patrick "please" and "don't" and "stop" were candy. Sweet enough but he could pick them up for free at any supermarket.

The genius in Richie's begging was all physical. It was his eyes, big, brown and expressive, magnified by those coke bottle glasses. He'd debated keeping them but ultimately decided it'd be more fun to keep the boy half blind, dependent on Patrick to navigate his reality. If he really missed thd old look, he could pick up some nonprescription frames and have it both ways. 

Patrick slid his hand into his jeans, enjoying the possibilities that stretched before him. Behind him, he could just make out Richie swearing.

The glasses only served to emphasize Richie's eyes. He couldn't control them. They always snapped between whatever he was afraid to, usually Patrick, then immediately back to whatever he wanted to protect, usually his loser friends. 

Patrick turned sharply, relishing the hard slam of Richie's body against the wall and the subsequent "Fuck!"

He drove for a few minutes, finally pulling over in to a clearing. He left the keys in the ignition, letting the music waft across the silent country side.

_"Work all night on a drink of rum,"_

Richie's feet lay closest to the door as Patrick opened the back of his truck. Dark purple bruises litterer his skin but he was still conscious. Still chattering away.

"Hey!" He rasped as the metal clattered behind him. "Let me out!"

Patrick huffed, stepping into the silver cab. It had been an ice cream truck before he gutted it, meant for the vendor to stand and purvey his wares from the back opening. He stood, watching Richie squirm to try and face him. He managed to turn himseld halfway, laying on his side. "Who the fuck are you?" He squinted pointlessly. "What kind of sicko fuckin'-"

"Shut your mouth, Tozier."

"Patrick Hockstetter?!" His voice went high, with a pleasant note of panic. "Of fucking course, you fucking psychopath, you'd-"

Patrick reached him in one step, driving his boot hard into Richie's stomach. With a cry, he curled in on himself as Patrick kicked him again. "Fuck!"

Patrick pulled him up by his hair, slamming his back into the wall. He held him there, forearm pressed into his trachea, as he slid the knife from his pocket. "I told you to shut up, bitch." He hissed, watching those gorgeous scared eyes flit to the knife. "You wanna survive, you better figure out how to follow directions. Nothing happens unless I let it, understand?"

Richie nodded, gurgling slightly as he pushed closer. Patrick smiled. He leaned in close and inhaled. The fear really did smell better. With another grin, he allowed Richie to drop to the floor. A benevolent god.

_"Daylight come and me wan' go home."_

Richie drew in a deep shuddering breath. His shoulders trembled as he tried to move his bound hands. He stared at Patrick through thick brown bangs. "Okay. I got it. Whatever you say just- put the knife away, man?"

Patrick scoffed. He croched down in front of Richie. The brown waves were grimy under his fingers, filthy after a long night. Richie flinched, shying back to the wall. Patrick pulled him back, enjoying the small yelp as Richie colided with his chest. It was delicious.

"I said be quiet," he whispered, drawing the blade over his back to slice that untouched skin.

* * *

November 18

Ben brought Richie's homework. In any other situation, this would have prompted a long rant, wondering how two specifically opposite people became friends and whether Ben even knew who Richie was at all, but he was honestly so glad to see him that Richie just let him talk.

"Ok, so we just finished the treaty of Versailles in Berkman. Basically the take away is that Germany got screwed."

Richie tapped Ben's shoulder, the best way to make him look up from his careful notes.

K-I-N-K-Y

K-R-A-U-T-S

Ben huffed, like he always did when he wanted to laugh but thought he shouldn't. 

"That's not actually far off. After the treaty, Germany became the Weimar Republic and actually got pretty progressive. They legislated a 48 hour work week and extended health insurance to wives and daughters without income. I actually found a book called Gay Berlin that-"

Wentworth looked up from his word search. "You found a book called Gay Berlin at Derry High?"

Richie pointed at his father. _Answer the question, Haystack._

Ben flushed. "Mike actually found it. Online."

Wentworth raised his eyebrows. "And all he brought over was a casserole?"

"A very nice casserole." Maggie said.

H-A-N-L-O-N

H-E-L-D

O-U-T

"It's interesting!" Ben said, forcing himself through embarrassment.

I

B-E-T

"There were all these messed up laws om the books," Ben continued, ignoring Richie's waggling eyebrows, "but I guess like nobody enforced them so there was this whole gay Renaissance before the Nazis took over."

H-O-T

Ben stared at him.

G-A-Y

S-T-U-F-F

N-O-T

N-A-Z-I-S

Richie clarified.

"I'd assume," he said. "Of couse, Berkman's not gonna cover any of it. We'll probably be in to World War Two by the time you get back-"

He faltered as Maggie dropped her phone. She stood up, not bothering to retrieve it, blinking hard. "I'm sorry, I need to-" she coughed. "Excuse me."

She left before anyone could respond.

Richie's father rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. "You boys uh- you'll be alright for a minute, won't you?"

Richie nodded.

Wentworth followed his wife as Ben flopped back onto the couch. "I'm an idiot."

NO

He stared at Richie between chubby fingers. Richie shrugged.

K-I-N-D-A

Ben leaned forward again. "You probably aren't gonna-"

NO

N-O-T

T-H-I-S

Y-E-A-R

Ben squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm an idiot."

NO

Richie patted his shoulder.

U-R

S-W-E-E-T

G-O‐O-D

D‐I‐S‐T-R‐A‐C‐T-I‐O‐N

F‐R‐O‐M

He gestured around at the pitiable state of his life, the communication board, the semi permanent place on his couch, the medication still out from lunch. _Nice to forget I'm broken for thirty minutes._

Ben didn't look convinced. "I made your Mom cry, dude."

Richie shook his head.

S-H‐E

J‐U‐S‐T

C‐R‐I‐E‐S

A

L‐O‐T

S-H-E

T-R-I-E-S

N-O‐T

T-O

B-U-T 

But he could hear her at night. They talked sometimes, when they thought Richie was asleep. Mom blamed herself. _"If I'd talked to him about the job, Went- if I thought for half a second about-"_

And Richie wanted to comfort her. He really did want to tell her it wasn't her fault, that things happened because Patrick made them happen and there was no way to fight it. Some how, even if he could talk, he doubted that logic would have helped.

"Rich?" Ben said in a soft voice. "Are you- god, I was about to ask if you're okay-"

Richie turned back to his friend and forced his lips up. 

H-O-W

G-A-Y

D-I-D

T-H-E

G-E-R-M-A-N-S

G-E-T

B-E-N-J-I

Ben blinked at him, two shiny tears rolling down his cheeks. Then he screwed his own face up into a smile. "They got really fucking gay, Richie. Did you ever watch Cabaret?"


	9. (September 29th) November 19th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: ANIMAL CRUELTY IN FIRST PARAGRAPH 
> 
> TW: ABLEIST LANGUAGE IN FIRST SECTION

(September 29th)

In seventh grade, Patrick Hooksetter learned that the human body could survive three days without water. The little squirrel in his fridge had lasted roughly a day. He couldn't be sure exactly as he'd gone to the movies with Henry Bowers that afternoon and his mother got burgers for dinner so he couldn't check on it again until well after midnight. The corpse fell out when he opened the door. It was trying to escape when it died.

Richie Tozier had tried too. Even without his limbs, he'd hurled his body against the door and walls, screaming for help. The scream grew hoarse but still managed to reach Patrick in the cab.

It had been three days, almost exactly since Richie came to him. Patrick had timed it out. Three days since he had a drink of water. 

Richie knew it too. He'd managed to sit up, knees drawn close to his stomach. A thick layer of dirt, blood and sweat covered his body. He watched Patrick with those desperate brown eyes, flitting from his face down to the water bottle in his hand. He looked fantastic.

Patrick took a swig and held it out. "Want some?"

Richie's tongue ran over chapped lips. He didn't move.

"Come on," Patrick called. The water swished when he shook it. "Come get it."

Richie swallowed. It must've hurt, but probably as much as when he started to crawl. 

He wasn't good at it, shuffling forward on his knees without the benefit of his arms. A bright crimson under the dirt, all the way down his exposed body. He stopped at Patrick's feet, staring up.

Patrick licked his lips. "Good bitch."

He slid his fingers into Richie's hair and pulled taut, enjoying the boy's sudden start. He forced his head back, tilted toward the silver roof. Richie opened his mouth, lips trembling, as Patrick poured the bottle slowly down his throat. 

He drank. He trembled, unable to hide his need as he swallowed. Patrick wished he hand another hand to wrap around his throat, to feel the muscles work, knowing he could stop them whenever he chose.

The cheap plastic cracked as Richie finished. Patrick pulled the bottle away and tossed it over his shoulder. Brown eyes followed it as it landed in the cold field behind him. Patrick could see his brain working, just as he'd watched him drink.

_How far can I get with my feet tied? How long can I last in the cold? Will he let me go?_

Patrick loosened his grip, brushing his thumb over dirty locks. The eyes jerked back to Patrick. "Please."

Patrick chuckled. He always was good for a laugh.

He tighten his grip again.

"Please," Richie choked. "Patrick, c'mon, man, you gotta let me go."

"Don't talk."

"Just lemme go home." Richie begged, eyes wide with tears. "My parents are gonna- they're gonna be looking for me. Please, just let me go and I swear to god, I won't-"

_Stupid._ He pushed him back onto the metal, climbing in over him. Richie squirmed beneath him, swearing and attention to kick with just his knees. Patrick rolled his eyes. He flipped Richie on to his stomach, dropping on knee on the curve of his ass.

"Get off me! I swear to god if you-"

Patrick pressed the flat edge of the blade against Richie's cheek. His legs and arms stilled but a sob made his shoulders quake. "Please, please."

"I told you not to talk." Patrick said.

"I'm sorry!" He shuddered again. "I'll stop. I promise I'll stop, just don't- don't cut me again!"

Patrick glanced down at his handiwork of the last two days. Little cuts, just deep enough for a little blood, a little pus. Maybe they were already infected. That might be fun.

Richie was still crying underneath him. Patrick leaned back on his haunches, pulling the knife away. Richie yelped as Patrick pulled his wrists up. "What are you-?"

"Hold still." He pressed the tip on the blade into the prawl, easing the zip tie free. He let one hand drop free. 

Richie froze. Patrick slipped the knife back into his pocket. "You gonna keep quiet, bitch."

"Yes!" Richie breathed. "Yes, I swear. I won't tell anyone-"

The crack of his finger in bending back beyond the boundaries of bone and cartilage sent a familiar thrill through Patrick's body. For a moment, Richie lay in perfect, silent shock. 

Then he screamed.

God, but Richie screamed perfectly. Patrick stepped off to the side, allowing the boy to roll over, clutching his broken digit. The animal noise of shock and pain devolved into ragged words of fear and rage. "Fuck! God! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Patrick shrugged. "I told you to be quiet."

Perhaps Richie could tell how much he enjoyed it. Why else would he insist on making noise unless he knew Patrick enjoyed punishing him?

He could also be stupid.

"Fuck you!" He was shouting now, fat tears leaving trails of white in the dirt on his face. "Fuck you, you crazy asshole! Let me the fuck out of here!"

_Definitely stupid._

"Shut the fuck up." Richie scrambled back, as much as his bound legs would allow him. The stupid bitch had nowhere to go, slamming back on the wall of the van. He swore again as Patrick reclaimed the hand, ignoring Richie's meager blows. The middle finger snapped easily. Richie sobbed.

Patrick let the hand drop. He put his fingers into Richie's hair, forcing him to look at him. 

"I told you to keep your mouth shut, Loser. You gonna do what I tell you or do I take another."

Richie's eyes flitted down to his broken fingers and back to Patrick's face. For a moment, he just shook, unable to control his whimpering. Then his buck teeth sunk into his lip, tears through the skin as a drop of crimson grew among the dirt and tears. He gave a silent nod.

Patrick smiled, and rustled Richie's hair with his finger. "Good bitch." 

Richie shook and said nothing.

* * *

November 19th

Stan didn't bring a damn thing.

Well, Richie caught him shoving the little notepad he used to write down all the birds he saw into his jacket before Maggie Tozier hugged him at the door. Andrea Uris immediately swept inside and wrapped her arms around her friend. "Maggie!"

Slightly pink, Stan slipped out from between them and darted into the livingroom. Richie waved.

"Hey," Stan said, with a choked little cough. "Sorry about this."

Andrea turned towards them and gasped. "Richie!"

She threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing both cheeks. "You poor thing! Let me look at you!"

Andrea Uris stared intently into his eyes. Richie squirmed, suddenly feeling like he'd messed up in Day Care again and Stan's mom was trying to figure out how. She placed another kiss on his forehead. "You're such a strong boy. I'm so glad you're home safe."

_If you say so, Mrs. Uris._ Richie managed a weak smile. It turned genuine when he caught sight if Stan, pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. _God I missed you._

Stan caught him staring and grimaced. "I did say sorry."

"Excuse me for appreciating a miracle, Stanley." Mrs. Uris glared at him. "Maggie, you look dead on your feet. Come into the kitchen, I'll make you a tea."

"Oh." She blinked, little tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm fine. Went went back to work and I don't-"

Mrs. Uris waved her concerns away. "They'll be fine. Won't you, Stanley."

Stan gave a firm nod, his mouth a straight line. "It's okay, Ms. Tozier."

Maggie sniffed again. "Richie?"

Richie nodded. Richie's mother had been hovering slightly off to the side since Wentworth had to return to his practice, nearly six hours ago. He jerked his head toward the kitchen, emphasizing his point. 

She nodded wiping her eyes. "If you need anything-"

"We'll call you." Stan promise.

Richie nodded. _Stan will call you. Same difference._

Maggie nodded again. "Richie, your board is-"

Richie nodded, tapping his good hand on the laminate. 

"Come on," Mrs. Uris said. She took Maggie by the shoulders and guided her into the kitchen.

And Stan and Richie were alone.

Stan stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Hey." He said again in that same choked voice.

Richie huffed. He tapped the vacant spot next to him on the couch. _C'mon Staniel, you're supposed to be the smart one. There's no point if you can't see the board._

Stan took a single shakey step toward him. Then another and another, then his arms circled Richie's shoulders. He pulled him tight, squeezing hard.

For a moment, Richie couldn't move. Then his arms lifted, crossing behind Stan's back. Stan shook. His fingers curled tight into Richie's shirt, like he'd fall over if he lost his grip. He'd somehow gotten skinnier since the last time-

Richie couldn't actually remember the last time he hugged Stan.

Stan pulled back quickly, wiping him eyes. "Sorry."

D-O-N-T

W-O-R-R-Y

Stan gave him a pained smile. "You know I'm gonna."

I

K-N-O-W 

He chuckled, wiping his eyes. "I really missed you, Richie."

S-A-M-E

"Are you uh-" he coughed. "I know you're not okay okay but-"

I

O-K

Stan looked at him for a long time, the same way Richie used to catch him staring at trees. His eye narrowed, searching for the source of some song that only Stan Uris ever paid close enough attention to hear.

I

N-O-T

R-E-A-L-L-Y 

O-K

Stan swallowed audibly. "You don't have to be okay. You know that, right?"

YES

_I just really wanted to be okay, Stanny._

They sat in silence for a moment. Stan stared at Richie. Richie stared the communication board. Even if he'd had a voice, he didn't know.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to," Stan said, half reading his thoughts, "but you don't have to hide it either. Nobody wants that."

Richie stared at the communication board, his usable fingers hovering over the letters, unsure of where they should land. If they should move at all.

_You don't know what you're asking._ He glanced up at Stan, tears in his eyes. _I don't want you to know what you're asking. I don't want you to look at me different._

_But you do. Everything is different, whether I want it or not. He made it different._

His fingers fell to the H. For a moment, Richie couldn't move.

H-E

I-S

S-T-I-L-L 

O-U-T

T-H-E-R-E

S-C-A-R-E-S

M-E

Stan huffed, relaxing slightly. "Yeah. That makes sense, Rich."

_Understandment._ Richie managed a weak smile.

"He's not... doing anything though." Stan said, "Not out of the ordinary anyway. And Morris isn't bad, for a cop. He found Georgie so maybe they-"

Richie slapped his arm. Stan glared at him. "Ow."

W-H-A-T

A-R-E

Y-O-U

T-A-L-K-I-N-G

A-B-O-U-T

Stan shifted. The way he always did when he debated a lie. "Morris, the guy in charge of your case? He's the guy who found Georgie."

Richie hit him again.

"Ow."

S-T-A-Y

A-W-A-Y 

F-R-O-M

H-I-M

"Don't hit me, dick, you'll fuck up your hand!" Stan snapped, dodging Richie's bandaged fingers. "And it's not like I'm following him around! I just- keep an eye out, y'know?"

Richie flopped back on the couch. He really, really wanted to swear. Not drag his fingers across laminated paper but really feel the invective as it slammed through his throat.

"You're mad." Stan said, sounding almost relieved.

NO

S-H-I-T

Not that draging his fingers across a certain set of letters was entirely unsatisfying. Stan huffed, smiling slightly.

"Good. Be mad at me. What ever it takes."

He rolled his eyes. _Oh, do I get to be mad? Gee, thanks, Stanny!_

I 

D-O-N-T

W-A-N-T

H-I-M

N-E-A-R

Y-O-U

A-N-Y

O-F

Y-O-U 

_You have no idea what I did to keep him away from you._

Stan at least had the decency to look a little guilty. He wasn't used to being guilty, upright citizen that he was, so it manifested in irritated squirming. "I'm not seeking anything out. I just-" he grunted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I don't want- if I know what he's doing, he can't-"

Without conscience thought, Richie's arms circled Stan's shoulders, pulling him into another tight hug. Stan shuddered. He rested his face on the curve of Richie's shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said again. "I'm supposed to be helping but-"

Richie shook his head. He brushed his hand over Stanley's hair, curls smoothed under bandaged fingers.

After a moment, Stan pulled back. "I'm sorry."

Richie pulled his communication board between them.

Y-O-U

H-A-V-E 

T-O

S-T-A-Y

A-W-A-Y

F-R-O-M

H-I-M

Stan frowned. "I can't just pretend I don't know."

P-R-O-M-I-S-E 

S-T-A-N

The arms crossed around his chest again. "I promise."

Richie glared. Like he'd forget Stan's tricks after one month long traumatic experience. He leaned in close to stare at his friend.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E 

WHAT

S-T-A-N

"I promise to avoid every violent shitbag in this town whenever possible," Stan rolled his eyes, "but I'm not going to stop looking out for you, Rich. I don't think it's physically possible."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. _There's no looking out for me, man. Just don't-_

But there was no point in telling him that. Stan had always, quietly and without a fuss, done whatever he wanted to do. He lured you into a false sense of security because usually he wanted to do quiet, reasonable things like homework and eating vegetables. 

But sometimes he felt the need to keep tabs on violent shitbags who maybe- 

But Richie didn't want to think about what Patrick might do, if Stan tried to observe him too closely. 

_He'll do what he wants. If he wants to take me again- he's going to._

But Stan looked so earnest, so goddamned determined to keep Richie safe. It would be cruel, not to mention pointless, to explain that it didn't matter, that Stan couldn't protect Richie any more than Richie could protect himself.

He was saved the discomfort of attempting to spell it out on his communication board by the return of their mothers. Maggie wiped her eyes as Mrs. Uris finished the latest round of Derry gossip. She sat next to her son, kissing his forehead. Richie smiled.

"Stanley, who's the one I like?"

Stan blinked at his mother. "The what?"

"The girl I like."

"Mom, I don't- Bev?"

Mrs. Uris rolled her eyes. "No, I know Bev. The singer girl. Heavy."

"Adele?"

Mrs. Uris shook her head. "Not Adele but I do like Adele. Big girl. She does the hair."

Richie tapped his communication. Stan leaned over to see.

L-I-Z-Z-O

"Richie says Lizzo, Mom." Stan said. "Is it Lizzo?"

She clapped her hands "Lizzo! Thank you, Richie! Stan never knows what I mean."

"What exactly I supposed to do with 'the girl that I like', Mom?

"Richie got it." Mrs. Uris said haughtily. Richie squirmed, warm with the praise.

"Richie's obsessed with pop culture," Stan muttered with a smile.

"Have you heard Lizzo, Maggie?" 

"Maybe?" His mother looked at him, finally seeking an answer he could give. "What did she do?"

Richie tried to recall the last Lizzo song he heard. It was like trying to remember something from kindergarten. Shapes and colors and songs, far away but still there.

T-R-U-T-H 

H-U-R-T-S

"That's a good one!" Mrs. Uris nodded. "What's the one with the hair?"

G-O-O-D 

A-S

H-E-L-L

"Stan, do you have that one? I want to link it to Maggie."

Dutifully Stan took out his phone. "Yeah, I can-" he stopped, suddenly rigid. He pulled the phone closer, scrolling down, eyes darting.

"Stan?" Maggie leaned forward, worried again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Stan swallow. "Just an alert. It's not-"

Richie kicked him.

W-H-A-T 

Stan squeezed his eyes closed. "They found the van. Patrick got arrested."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please review!

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed some angst.
> 
> Please review.


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